Four1een R4asons Why
by musicnotes093
Summary: McGee had been missing for three weeks. He left nothing for anyone. No letters. No calls. Everyone assumed that he was dead. Then one day, Ziva receives an e-mail from him, leading her to the fourteen reasons why he decided to leave.
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note:__ NFA Hangman Prize for mini bagel! Hope everyone enjoys it!_**

**_Disclaimer:_****_This story is inspired by Jay Asher's "Th1rteen R3asons Why". If you've read it (or know about it), don't worry. It's not going to be that dark. I don't think it's going to be that dark at all! So the credit for the plot bunny goes to Mr. Asher. As for NCIS, it belongs to its rightful owner!_**

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**From: **_1954_TMcG_

**To: **_zdavid.646_

**Received: **_25 Jan 2010, Mon; 4:56 am_

**Subject: **_Hi!_

_Hi, Ziva!_

_It's me. Tim. How are you? I know you are wondering right now if this e-mail is from someone trying to pull a prank on you, or worse. It could be from a kidnapper._

_Sadly, my life is not that dramatic. Well, yet. But I do understand if that's what you're thinking. After all, I did not leave any notes or called to tell anyone where I will be. I want you to know that I'm perfectly fine. I can assure you that I'm at somewhere safe, so don't worry. I've also heard that all of you there are thinking that I'm dead. I think I can understand that, too…_

_But let me cut to the chase. To tell you the truth, I decided to leave everything behind—"take a break" as some would say. Will I come back? I don't know. I have resolved not to let anybody know where I am so that I could finally be at peace, but I couldn't. I thought about you. I thought you deserved to know. I also hoped that you could understand the reasons why._

_I went away because I'm tired. There are so many things going on in my head right now, and I know I will not be able to bear it if I stayed. I'm so frustrated, and there was always that impression in me that everyone's too busy to care about my situation. There were a lot of things that are gradually pulling me apart._

_I went my way because I need to find the pieces. If I could, of course._

_I had to go and save myself, Ziva. Seeing the team and my family will make things harder. Maybe the time out that I'm having will help me. Then again, maybe not. But all I need to do is to forget._

_This might be the last e-mail you'll receive from me. Don't tell Gibbs or Tony or Abby about this, because I programmed it to 'self-destruct'. This e-mail is just a way of mine to let you know that I'm alright._

_Before I say goodbye, you need to know that there's fourteen particular reasons why I left. One reason leads to the other. If you want to, you can look for them. I will go with you throughout your search. If you don't want to, that's perfectly fine. I just wish a good life for you, and I'd like to let you know that I'm honored to have met a woman like you._

_Yours truly,_

_Timothy McGee_

_(012610;98.9;0045)_

Ziva stared at the luminescent screen in front of her. Slowly, her eyebrows creased. _Yours truly, Timothy McGee. _Was it really him? A part of her whispered that it was just Tony, playing an awful joke on her, but another part of her argued that it really was McGee. She recognized the words, and she felt every letter.

Was it just desperation? She missed him a lot since the first day he was declared missing—even before that. Maybe she was just hoping aimlessly? No. It couldn't be. She trusted her guess, and it told her that the e-mail truly was from him.

Before a smile fully dawned on her lips, his words floated in her mind once more. He left because he was frustrated. He said he had to forget the team and his family. A month ago, the last day she saw him, he looked rather happy. He was even laughing! But she was remorseful for having let go of the suspicion she had during that time. It was a fleeting moment, when their eyes caught each other, when she saw that flash of aloneness and sadness in his eyes.

If she had known better, she would have talked to him about it. She would not have watched him leave, waving a farewell to him as the elevators closed.

Fourteen reasons that caused that unnecessary broken heart of his to come to be. _One reason leads to the other. _Ziva closed her eyes. He had always been there for her, even through catastrophes life had bestowed upon her. When she was shattered, he did his all to mend her the best way he could. And she had been made new because of him.

Now it was her turn. She wanted to know. She wanted to understand him and hopefully, when she did, it would be when he comes back to her.

"Hey to all the listeners!" the radio station announcer's energetic greeting sent Ziva bolting upright on her bed, alert to any intruders.

"Just the radio," she mumbled after glaring at it. She shook her head.

"It's January the twenty-sixth, two-oh-ten! What are you guys doing up so late?" the announcer continued. "If you answered 'tuning in to my favorite radio station, 98.9', well, you'll win a check for a million dollars!" He laughed. "I'm just kiddin', I'm just kiddin'. But that's a very good answer, though. For that, you'll get the reward of hearing our next listener's request! It's from Probie One. He dedicates this song to Probie Two and wants her to know this is the first reason. Hmm. I'm seeing geek love here.

"Anyways, here it is, Probie Two! Hoobastank's 'The Reason'. It's 12:45 am in beautiful Maryland. This has been DJ Dee-Jay. Goodnight!"

On impulse, Ziva looked back at McGee's e-mail. 012610. January 26 2010. 98.9. The radio station. 0045. The time of the song. First reason why. She listened closely.

_I'm not a perfect person  
There's many things I wish I didn't do  
But I continue learning  
I never meant to do those things to you  
And so I have to say before I go  
That I just want you to know_

It couldn't be the radio station. McGee rarely listened to it, as far as she remembered.

_I'm sorry that I hurt you_

_It's something I must live with everyday_

_And all the pain I put you through_

_I wish that I could take it all away_

Probie One. She fought the urge to smile. It was McGee. She knew it.

_I've found a reason for me_

_To change who I used to be_

Reason. First reason.

_And the reason is you_

_And the reason is you…_

Reason. First reason.

She was the first reason why.

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**Reviews are greatly appreciated! =)**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:**__** Update! Finally got a chance to update this! =D I was so happy to see many reviews for the first chapter! Thanks to these following wonderful people! I hug all of you!**_

**__****polarpi*gibby101*Fullmetal Embers*Leonie1988*smilingT12*LoveAndSerenity*black potter 365*Gaddzkmp*mollygibbs101*Gustavia*ThePenIsMighty*MySupermanJoeDJDangaa*Alye Dacille*LongToSexy4U**

_**Disclaimer: NCIS and its characters do not belong to me. So does Jay Asher's **Th1rteen R3asons Why**.**_

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The apartment building was silent. The lighting on the corridor was dim. The moonlight cast a graceful shadow on the ground, but for Ziva it lacked luster. The floor beneath her was cold. The door behind her seemed to tap her on the shoulder, summoning her to come in.

She could not deny the truth that it bothered her. It had been a week or so since she first found out. She thought it was enough time to get over it, but it wasn't. She longed to know the explanation, why she was a cause of his departure.

Sitting there on the floor outside McGee's apartment, Ziva became more uncertain on whether she should go in or not. She held a yellow sticky note in her palm. Its sides were crumpled by her constant consultation of the words scribbled on it.

It indicated the way towards the second reason.

She did not know why she was reluctant now. Throughout the days from the first, she had been trying to unravel the message that would lead her to the next. She checked any other note from the song, the singer, the album. None. Nothing but the reality that she was the first cause of his pain.

It even bothered Tony one day how "obsessed" she was with the music she had been analyzing. "Was that a theme song with someone special?" he teased. She didn't answer. He snickered. "Oh, Ziva," he continued. "I would love to be the DJ of that radio station and listen to all the songs you and mystery guy dedicate to each other." Subtly, she rolled her eyes. "Yeah," he added, "then he'll leave a message for me to read to you. Boy, wouldn't that be classic."

She looked up. Of course. The radio station. She was not completely knowledgeable of how requests worked, but then she thought that the overseers of the radio segment ought to take notes. Somehow.

She quickly grabbed her belongings from her desk, and then asked Tony to tell Gibbs that there was something she needed to attend to. She was absolute that it left him perplexed, but she would have to explain later.

When she arrived at the building of the radio station, she had to stop for a moment before going in. She took a deep breath. She hoped that what she was doing was right. Every step she made forward was loaded with anxiousness, every space closed with doubt. Once or twice something told her that maybe McGee didn't want her to find him anyways. She would just be hurt at the end, and he would still be gone from her side.

But, she decided, it was a selfish thought. She could only imagine what Tim was going through. He needed her, and, she was beginning to admit, she needed him, too. Perhaps even more.

After asking the stern receptionist for the DJ, she was led to a bright studio by one of the interns. The woman had a small-framed body and had auburn-colored hair. She held a tense smile on her lips, her clenched pearly whites making it more robotic. "Right this way," the intern have said as they walked. "I'm Amanda," she said a while later. "What's your name?"

Ziva thought about the answer. "Lisa," she said.

"Are you an intern, too?"

"No."

Amanda sighed in relief. "Okay." As she caught sight of a mid-aged—perhaps younger—man conversing with another man, she knocked on the glass. The loud echo made their heads turn to her direction. She gestured for him to come out.

"Yes?" he asked, flashing a friendly smile to both of them. "What can I help you gorgeous ladies with?"

Amanda giggled, while Ziva only frowned. "DJ Dee-Jay, yes?" the latter asked.

"The one and only," he confirmed. "And what's my lady's name?"

"Lisa."

"And what is our business?"

"You announced a…certain request almost a week ago."

"More than likely, I won't remember it, sweetheart."

"It was early in the morning of January 26th. It was from Probie One. The song was entitled _The Reason._"

The DJ creased his eyebrows, attempting to recall the specifics from the pages of his memory. "Oh," he lit up. He grinned. "Yes. I remember that. I'm guessing you're Probie Two?"

She nodded.

"That was an interesting one," he reminisced. "Well, what do you wish of it? Do you want a song played for him? I can recommend new and perfect songs. I'll even make the dedication special for your boyfriend."

Ziva almost pictured the pink staining her cheeks. "Tim is…He is not my boyfriend," she said, avoiding his eyes.

"Oh. Husband, then?"

Her eyes widened a little. "No. He's a very close friend, Mister…?"

"Just call me Dee."

"Dee." She looked up at him. She didn't know if she was allowed to speak of what she was thinking since Tim's sudden absence was still an ongoing investigation, but she knew she had to take risks in giving away some information. The man in front of her might have been the last person McGee had spoken to, and maybe he even held an important piece of the puzzle.

"It will probably be best if I go," Amanda muttered after seeing Ziva's expression. Then, she left.

"He had been missing for over a time now, Mister Dee," Ziva said. The smile from the DJ's face slid off. "I have to find him. I need all the information you had about the request."

"As much as I want to help you with that, I…I can't," he admitted guiltily. "It's…We have to still keep some things confidential. We're allowed to announce what our listeners want us to say but, that's it. I'm sorry."

Ziva nodded. She understood. She rotated to the other direction, already planning the next move she would take to obtain the possible clue.

"Wait," he said. Ziva turned around, then saw the debate going inside his head through his face. He ran back inside the studio, later emerging with a yellow sticky note in his hand. "I've just remembered. Your friend didn't leave any other details, but he did mention specifically to give this address and message to you if ever you came."

Tonight, after seeing it, she sat outside McGee's door with the paper entangled between her fingers. She stared at the dark carpet in front of her, still unsure of what to do. She was afraid that she might not be able to stop herself from searching whenever it would be necessary to. She was scared to go at great lengths to meet a different side of him that she never wanted to meet.

And it terrified her that everything might turn out to be a game at the end.

After counting quietly inside her head, a practice that her mother once taught her to calm herself down, she stood up and withdrew the key hidden underneath the doormat, just as the note directed her to.

She slowly opened the door and was immediately blinded by the darkness. She took careful steps inside, allowing the air which lacked light and warmth swallow her. Then, she shut the door. She heard the doorknob click. Silence. She groped for the switch. She had been inside the apartment before, but it wasn't so placid then.

It was lively, or at least that's what it seemed. Music played on the background, the jazz songs that annoyed Tony every time but that secretly uplifted her soul. The lamps were very luminescent, just like the sun. She enjoyed watching its joyful color bask across the walls.

All of it were nothing but memories now. Just vague ideas.

She flicked the protrusion of plastic on the wall upward, and it caused a melancholic bulb to wake up, upset that it had to do its job.

The room unfurled before her. Everything was the way she last saw them: the bookshelves remained tall and steadfast against a corner, and McGee's writing materials were resting idly on a table. Things were still the same, yet they were also different. The life they had in them had fleeted away. They were waiting, waiting, waiting like her.

She moved to McGee's room. An uncomfortable feeling wrapped around her, but she struggled out of it as quickly as she could. She turned the lights on. Empty bed. Desolate room. She had not been in there before, as far as she remembered, so she could not make a definite assessment of it. She supposed there was also a change.

Listlessly, she sat on the bed.

Then again, she thought, maybe not. She didn't notice any books or radio, no television, no pen and papers. Only the walls and McGee, when he was still there. She imagined a usual night for him. He would come home, do other things, and then sit on the bed, just like what she was doing at that instant. When the night rendered him sleepless, he would stare at the other side of the room, his eyes on the dark walls.

Memories would knock inside his head, from the faraway room where he had already banished them. He would ignore it, but they would slip in anyways. The pain and misery that those bore would evolve, then multiply into questions.

Soon, he would drown. He would drown with no one saving him. He would think of people—like her—, call their names under his breath, and hope that they would rescue him, but none of them would come. The only thing he could do was close his eyes and surrender to the cruelty of his mind and the fatality of his isolation.

Ziva got back on her feet. She knew why he sent her there. He wanted to show her why he needed to leave. She made another glance around the chamber. Walls, bulbs, table. Picture? There was a sheet of smooth, white paper lying downside up atop the nightstand. She reached for it, and then turned it.

A picture of Kate and McGee. They were sitting at a table, likely at a restaurant, their smiles enlightening their youthful faces. Ziva wearily placed the photograph inside her left jean pocket.

It might also be a possibility that Tim stared at pictures of people he knew and have known. As was evident, Kate Todd had been the most previous he thought of.

He missed her a lot, she was sure, during his lonely nights. Kate was one question that demanded an answer even when he couldn't provide any.

Ziva took a final look at the apartment after she came out, turned the lights off once more, any signs of life repelled. Then, she closed the door, locked it, and then placed the key discreetly under the mat.

Reason. Second reason.

The home he came to every night had been a prison. It suffocated the breath out of him, leaving his soul dry and dead.

He had to go away to live again.

And, to end a question once and for all, he had to face a guilt by coming towards it. Or, at least, visiting it.

Ziva acknowledged the fact that she was being drawn to it also. After all, the map to the next destination was, at that moment, laying warm inside her pocket.

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_**Reviews are very, very loved! :)**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note:**__** Finally! I had the chance to update! I do apologize for the two-month pause. But, what's important are the kind people who left reviews! Yay to them!**_

_**CrayonsPink*XxVamp-WitchxX*idontseepenguins*mollygibbs*kira66*RedDragen**_

_**Disclaimer:**__** NCIS, its characters, and the idea of the story are not mine. So does Calvary Cemetery and Hollomon-Brown Funeral Home not, because they're real places.**_

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The field of green, silent and desolate, stretched towards the dim horizon. Tombstones, dark and light alike, were spread across, names and memories emblazoned on each of them. The sky above was clogged with bitter clouds, threatening the release of rain. Ziva noticed these as she veered the steering wheel towards a parking space at the cemetery.

Then, after pushing the gear shift into park, she leaned against the warm black leather of her seat.

She sighed. The drive towards Indiana was rather long and exhausting. Since she opted to wait until the weekend before going on the trip, there were several other motorists that shared the road with her. She made short pit stops, to get something to eat and stretch for a bit, but she knew well not to waste any time.

When she was alone, driving, she thought about McGee. Sometimes, she found herself imagining where he could be. There was that inner hope that she would find him sooner. Sometimes, she found herself wondering why she was still following him. Why was she so determined to see him? What if he would never show up? What if he was…

Ziva shook her head. That could never be. She hoped it would never be.

She swiveled her head towards the seat beside her. On it lied McGee and Kate's picture. She was apprehensive of asking anyone at NCIS where the picture was taken and why they were together. It scared her, the answer. Additionally, if she did act out on her curiosity and approach one of her teammates, they would only beleaguer her with more questions later.

Almost gingerly, she picked up the photo.

Kate. She was smiling then. The date was May 18 2005. Exactly one week before she died. On the picture, her eyes glimmered with the flash of the camera, her essence captured with that blink of a moment. Ziva wondered what she might be thinking then. Perhaps only to stretch her lips to grant the request of the photographer while she awaited that swift light. Perhaps there were things she remembered, events that were reminiscent of her first photo back when she was a child.

In all honesty, Ziva couldn't identify much with her. She never had the chance to get acquainted with her. All she had were pieces of stories. Most of the were from Ducky, a few from Abby, a little from Tony; that was it. At times, it could get awkward, especially when they get to the peak of their tales about Kate, and then they would realize that she was there. Then, they would stop altogether.

From what she had gathered, all she and Kate had in common were the desk they occupied at the office and Ari. Especially the latter.

It was not long after until the rain started pouring. The little droplets of tears fell profusely on the green grass. They only bent down and yielded for the water, so that it could flow down to the ground.

Ziva looked upwards, watching the dark skies. She placed the glossy paper inside her jacket, then braved through the rain. She withdrew the car keys, got out, and then shut it. She knew that Kate's tomb was somewhere under a big tree. Before she left, she have asked Ducky about it.

"Why do you want to know, my dear?" Ducky asked as he washed his hands, calling it a day from the Autopsy Room, almost a week ago.

"I might want to visit her one day," she quietly answered.

Ducky gave a long thought about it, only frowning at her as if discerning her intentions. "Calvary Cemetery. Portage, Indiana," Ducky said. He dried his hands, and then turned to her, a sad smile on his face. "Caitlyn was buried under a big tree."

Quickly, her eyes scanned through every tombstone she passed that was under the shades of vast trees.

None.

Not long after, she saw a lone grave under the sanctuary of leaves and branches. Slowly, she walked towards it. Caitlin Todd. Beloved daughter and sister. A brave agent. May 19, 1973 to May 25 2006. We will miss you.

Ziva kneeled in front of the grave, bedraggled by the inclement weather but at the moment spared by it. For a while, she attempted to catch her breath. Afterwards, she took out the picture from her jacket. Drops of water had begun soaking portions of it: the light, the table, a dark corner.

Kate. She was still smiling. When Ari took her out, choices were eliminated immediately. Ziva had to do the same. When she made her decision and triggered their fates, that was when she and Kate became connected. The latter's life had ceased, only existing in her family's minds, in her team's stories.

Ziva knew that hers ended, too. Her name's subsistence in her father's and her country's vocabulary started to deteriorate. Her definition wounded. Her worth effaced.

Now, they treated her as someone dead.

At least, she could see flowers atop Kate's casket before she was lowered to the ground, on the day of her funeral, before everybody bid her a farewell. Her? Disregarded. Sent to board a boat that became her coffin. It mattered not if it floated or sank. No one cared. If she did die, it only deserved a spit on the ground. A whistle. A shrug.

Ziva noticed tears blurring her sight. She blinked it off, wiping the ones that escaped with the back of her hands, and didn't mind it. She knew better than to cry. Doing so would only mean that she surrendered to being a weakling.

She stared at the photograph again. McGee. He was smiling, too. But his jovial smile seemed non-existent anymore. The shutter caught it that night, but it never came again. All because Kate was gone. She recalled a hearsay at her earlier days at NCIS that Agent Todd shouldn't have been dead. She was not the first person Ari shot at. There were unspoken guesses: Gibbs? Tony?

But with that smile vanished into thin air, Ziva knew it was McGee who could have been gone. As Kate died, as she died, he was gradually dying, too. Because of Ari's bullet, because of his questions, because he blamed himself, he was disappearing as well.

He went out there, at the cemetery, perhaps, to say goodbye. Ziva lowered the photograph to the ground, and she left it there. He needed to find the pieces, the reasons, and she concluded that he found one by coming back to something that could-have-been. He made amends with it the best way he could: apologize.

"I am sorry, too, Kate," Ziva said.

Kate. She was the third reason why.

After a sigh, she stood up. Before she could leave, however, she spotted a white rose, a pink bow tied at its stem, at the side of the tombstone. She picked it up, frowning.

Margaret Lowell. Hollomon-Brown Funeral Home. February 16 2010. It was all written in gold ink on the ribbon.

Ziva ran through the rain once more. Before she went inside the car, she removed her jacket. She wrung it, and then hastily she got in.

She turned the heater on to dry up. As she waited, she twirled the flower amidst her slender fingers. A second death. Another goodbye to bid for McGee. He must be getting tired of it. She had to find him. She have to help him.

Ziva turned her head towards the backseat when her phone begun ringing. She grabbed it, and then checked the name on the screen. Tony. She stared at it momentarily. After a few more rings, she answered it. "David."

"Ziva," Tony said quietly, his voice a bit hoarse.

"It is a weekend, Tony. Do not bother me," she said.

"We…" Tony begun, but stopped. His voice shuddered. Ziva creased her eyebrows. "Metro found a car off a road. They called us in to identify the body, because it was burnt. The car exploded."

"I am off today," Ziva said, getting nervous. "I asked Gibbs, and he said—"

"No," Tony said. "Can you—Just let me finish."

Ziva replied with silence.

"They found a wallet, and some things were still intact," Tony continued. "We found a somewhat decent photograph and an ID. Ducky's doing the autopsy right now just to make sure." Then, he became quiet.

"Tony?" Ziva said.

"The ID was from MIT. The picture, we—the whole team's in it," Tony said. Ziva's heart collapsed inside her chest. "Ziva, McGee's dead."

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**Reviews are well loved! =)**


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note:**__** I apologize for having taken this long to update! Well, thanks to the following for leaving such lovely reviews last chapter! Oh, and a reply to their reviews, too!**_

**__****lvcfhg: Thank you! Well, I only had this idea from Jay Asher's **_Th1rteen R3asons Why**. Even though this is different, I still can't take credit (because I'll be more than likely sued if I did :P ).**_

**_Anony: Sure thing! And I'm glad you like it so far! =D_**

**_mollygibbs101: Sorry if I gave you a mini heart attack there, Molz. :P Hopefully you'd like this update, but. . . well, I don't want to spoil it. ;)_**

**_Fullmetal Embers: Okey dokey! _**

**_CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER: Well, for right now it is. ;) Can't give away much, though! Thanks for the nice reviews!_**

**_SpeicalAgentCrissyT: You got it! _**

**_Disclaimer:_****_ NCIS and the idea of this story do not belong to me. They belong to their owners._**

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"Timothy McGee, you said?"

Ziva nodded. She found it hard to be inside that funeral home, holding a bouquet of flowers and a white rose, knowing that McGee was dead. "Yes," she answered. "I know I am too late for it, but I would still like to pay my respects."

The director of the funeral home, a warm old woman with her white hair tied into a bun, only gave her a smile. Her dry red lipstick seemed to crack at the end of her lips, revealing its weariness. Her eyes sympathetically focused on Ziva. "I understand," she said, and then turned to the stringy man standing behind her guest. "You may go, Allan. As for you, Miss David, follow me."

It felt awkward as they walked along the corridor. Ziva fought back the lump forming in her throat. The chandeliers, aligned on the ceiling above the carpeted hallway, shed little light on them. They were weak, as if they were mourning themselves. There was nothing but silence in the building, too: no whispers, no conversations, no chuckles. Only the unspoken dirge that the walls cried to those who could hear. The flowers, although bright and colorful, seemed to have ridden of their scents. They have torn those away from themselves. They only serve as a memory now, soon to wither away from the strangers' minds like those people who have died.

"I'm Mrs. Freya Alyosha, by the way," the elder woman said as she held the door open for Ziva. "Like I said, I am the director of this funeral home."

Ziva reluctantly came in to the small office. "Ziva David," she introduced herself, looking around. The darkness swelled more after Freya closed the door. It made the tall shelves and the oak drawers and tables ghastly and melancholic.

Freya sat behind her desk, gesturing for the younger woman to take a seat opposite her. "You said you were here because of Timothy, correct?" she asked.

"Yes. Actually, I am here for Margaret Lowell," she said, and then slid the ribbon towards Freya.

"I see," she solemnly nodded after checking it. "Now he did tell me that you might be here one day. In fact, he left something for you." She bent down a bit after pulling out one of the drawers, and then fished for the item. "Tsk. Where is it? I just saw it here yesterday."

"Um, if I may, Mrs. Alyosha—"

"Please," she chuckled, "I prefer Miss Freya. Mrs. Alyosha just. . ." she sat up momentarily, pensive. "It just reminds me of my age. Not a nice subject when it comes to mind, you know?" she grinned weakly at Ziva, and then went back to her search.

Ziva couldn't help but smile. "Well, Miss Freya," she corrected, "I want to ask you about Tim. When did you last see him?"

"He was here a few months back," came Freya's muffled response. "All throughout Mrs. Lowell's wake. It lasted about three, four days."

"Was someone else with him? Like the family of the deceased?"

"As far as I know, he was Mrs. Lowell's only family. He was the only one here. Oh, I really felt pity for the boy. He used to sit there in the room alone. Sometimes I join him, talk to him. I'd ask him if he was alright, and he would just smile. He would say he needed to be there for her. I ventured on the last day, though, before she was cremated, to ask him if she was his relative. He said she was like his mother. And then before he left, he gave me this," she answered, hauling a large photo album to the top of the table. She sighed. "He said one day Ziva would come to take a look at it. True enough, you are here."

Ziva pulled the album closer to her. The hardbound covers were anything but tattered. They were stained and faded. She allowed her fingers to touch the front flap, and then she lifted it up. Under the desk lamp, she watched as the gold ink that read _Margaret Lowell _glimmer on the first page. Already, she was filled with questions. Tim hadn't mention her to them before. But why not, considering that he regarded her as a mother?

"I'll be outside if you need anything, Miss David," Freya stood up. She glanced at her once more before stepping out, closing the door shut behind her.

Immediately, Ziva saw a picture of a tall woman, perhaps in her thirties, wearing a flower print dress. She beamed at the camera while she held an apparently squirming little baby boy in her arms.

Ziva smiled. That must be Tim.

She turned another page, and she saw a note beside a cut-out paper leaf. _Tim-Tim's allergic with poison ivy. Very allergic. Make sure you tell Jenny about her little boy's problem, _indicated the scribble. Then, another one with baby Timmy on a high-chair, captured in the middle of a sneeze, with what looked like a tail on the lower left corner. _Put Fanny in a cage when Tim-Tim's visiting! He's allergic to cats._

As she flipped through pages after pages of the album, it was then that Ziva recognized Margaret's role in Tim's life. She was always there in every important event, even when his parents weren't. At any given time, both always appeared happy. Especially her. From Tim's first steps to his years of being a boy scout to his first day of high school, she was present.

And then came the part where Margaret and her husband had to move. Ziva knew because of that shot where Margaret and Tim stood behind a fully-loaded truck, the latter's eyes puffed up. _My little boy. I told Roger that if we could have, we would have taken Tim-Tim with us. Things would have been a lot easier. _

After that, she only had pictures of her and her husband. No children. Her grins and beams have waned into mere smiles.

Before the last pages, Ziva saw Tim's pictures again, but he's already grown up. There were only few pictures of him with his family. Mostly there would only be him and Margaret and, at one point, Roger. _Back with our baby again! I can't believe that through all those years, he'd still look for us, _she jotted on yet another piece of paper.

_A farewell to my dear husband. I will always love you, Roger. Tim-Tim and I will always love you, _said a note stuck on the side of what seemed like a withered red rose.

Ziva reached the final page and there, she saw Tim's picture with them—with the team—and one where he held a small baby boy while a young woman stood beside him with a smile.

_To my dear Tim-Tim:_

_You know how much I love you. You're like the son Roger and I __didn't dare to have. You're a handful as a baby! And you were enough for us anyways. We're just happy when you're with us. _

_I know you've wanted me to meet your friends at NCIS for so long, but I always seem to fall ill every time I try to visit. I'm really sorry. I feel bad, because you've told me a lot about your boss and Abby and Tony (who I owe a nagging at since he always play those tricks on you) and Ziva. If only I can come. I know how big of a decision taking that job was for you. Your eyes told me so when you talked to me about it. You said your mom and your dad didn't really want you there. Knowing Jenny, I know she became assertive. But they meant well, I'm sure. After all, you'd be putting your life on the line everyday._

_And I would have said the same thing if I was your mom!_

_But Tim-Tim, I saw how content you are with your team. Plus, you've always enjoyed helping other people. If it is, then you should stay with the job that would make you glad. _

_I also received this picture of you and baby Joshua. Your baby's really cute, I tell you. The mother's beautiful, too, I should say. All three of you look perfect. _

_You're happy with your new families now, and they're also happy with you, I could tell. This will be a nice memory for me to remember before I go._

_Sweetheart, I know you'll be sad. You shouldn't. Life's too beautiful for you to be. Your Daddy Roger and I wouldn't be so pleased to think of you as sad. I know other things had been getting in your way and bothering you, but you're a fighter. I know you can do it. You're not the type to back down. You had two moms and two dads that raised you as a great man. You know that._

_Well, Tim-Tim, that's it for me. All I could do now is wish you well, both for your new baby and the girl you said you love. _

_Always your mom, _

_Mommy Margie_

Ziva struggled to tear her eyes away from the letter. Another person lost, another reason why. Tim grieved for the death of the woman who had been like his mother. She has always been a part of the puzzle that was him and because she's gone, he was grappling to maintain all balance.

But it seemed to Ziva that the letter and one of the photos did the same to her. The woman and the baby. Tim's. He had a son now and a wife that he loved.

Right when she was already. . . already. . .

The door creaked open, and Freya stepped in cautiously. "Everything's alright, I hope?" she asked.

"Yeah. Yeah," Ziva nodded, masquerading the fact that her heart was being reduced into a frozen red puddle inside her chest. She stood up, the album in her hand. "I am alright," she said. "This album. You do not mind if I take it, do you?"

"Oh, no," Freya answered. "Actually, Timothy told me that that's yours to take." She chuckled. "He even called yesterday to check if he gave me the book."

Ziva froze. "He called yesterday?" she asked apprehensively. Yesterday. The same day Tony told him that Tim's gone.

Freya nodded. "Yes, he did," she said. "Only briefly, although. I think he was just making sure that he didn't leave it somewhere else."

"Okay," Ziva said, stunned. Absent-mindedly, she proceeded out of the door. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Miss David," Freya said. "He even identified himself. And it had only been a while since he have gone. Even if I'm old I can still remember his voice."

Ziva took out her car keys and then her phone to call Ducky. "Thanks, Mrs. Alyosha—Oh, uh, Freya," she bid farewell before hurrying to her car.

She didn't wait for any response. Immediately, she unlocked the unperturbed vehicle, and then got in. After placing the album down to the passenger's seat, she dialed the medical examiner's number then waited until he answered his phone.

Glancing back at the album, she noticed that Tim's picture with baby Joshua and the woman had fallen to the floor. She stared at it. She was glad that Tim was alive. He was still out there, somewhere. However, it made her wince to think that he could be with his family. Maybe soon she would find him, but by then she couldn't tell her how she felt about him anymore. No. That privilege already belonged to someone else.

He already belonged to someone else.

"You called, Ziva?" Ducky answered his phone, breaking Ziva out of her trance.

"Ducky, it isn't Tim," she said, unable to hide her exhaustion anymore. "The person on the autopsy table; it is not him. I do not know why he had Tim's belongings, but it's not him."

* * *

**I know it's not very nice of me to relieve you guys from Tim's death, only to replace it with the heavier load of him having a family. And the chapter's too dang short! But I'll be nice next chapter, don't worry. :)**

**It'll be longer! =D**

**Reviews greatly appreciated!**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note:**__** Thanks to the following people who left reviews! **_

**Lyra Russ * mollygibbs101 * ThePenIsMighty**

_**Disclaimer:**__** NCIS and the concept of this story do not belong to me. . . Blah, blah, blah. Y'all know the premise! ;)**_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

The days and weeks that passed by seemed stale to Ziva. They were more routinely than exciting. No longer did she look forward to the end of the day or even the end of the week. Why should she? There was no cause for her to. All she did now was occupy her desk and, if she was fortunate enough, she and the team would be involved in a fast-paced case.

Too quick to her liking, she noted. She hoped for those moments to last a bit longer, only so that she wouldn't think about him anymore, but of course it didn't happen.

It was grueling when those times come where Gibbs would initiate another plan to find the missing young agent and determine the cause of his absence. Hard it was to watch them scramble for clues when she knew she had some of those. She was ahead of the game.

_It will not be long until I am not anymore_,she thought.

She still kept the photo album inside one of the drawers in her apartment, but she never looked at it anymore. She would only see that picture, and then a lump would compress in her throat again. It was why she stopped searching for Tim. She was certain of what would happen if she pursued him further. It would be wrong.

It would really be wrong.

So the only hope of seeing him again she left in the hands of Gibbs and the others. She would be happy when they find him. Besides that, however, she would do nothing else. She would not demand any explanation. She would not tell him what happened along her search.

No. She would only greet him briefly and have the small box containing the things he left for her waiting at his desk.

"Hey. Ziva."

Ziva almost jumped up with the mention of her name. She broke out of her trance, then swiveled her head to see Tony standing in front of her desk, his backpack slung on his shoulder, frowning at her. Gibbs was impatiently waiting for them. "What?" she asked Tony.

"What?" Tony repeated with incredulity. "Boss just told us to grab our gears."

Instinct propelled Ziva upward from her chair. She grabbed her own bag from the floor then strode towards the elevator where Gibbs headed.

Tony slid in the doors before it closed. "Are you alright, Ziva?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes," she chuckled, annoyed. "Why would I not be?"

Tony and Gibbs exchanged a glance. "Because you've been zoning out a lot lately," Tony responded.

"You are too nosy, Tony," Ziva said, dismissing the topic.

Their destination didn't concern her much. Gibbs was behind the wheel, driving to wherever, and Tony sat in the passenger's seat, constantly taking glimpses of her in the side-view mirror, which irritated her.

When Gibbs pulled up at the parking lot of an orphanage, Ziva then remembered the case they were working on. One Junior Petty Officer Anne Talley was taken down as she was coming home from her volunteer work at Children's Home. Another volunteer witnessed the crime. She was being hunted down by those men that have slain Talley, so she hid under the protection of NCIS.

Anything else other than that was cloudy for Ziva, and it wasn't only because she was a bit distracted. The perpetrators were also elusive, and the witness was too afraid to speak at any immediate time.

Ziva inferred that they were there in the orphanage to get statements from other employees. After all, many of the people they have spoken to said that Talley was chatty, and more than likely she had mentioned something that could be of importance to the investigation to someone in there.

"Oh," a mid-aged woman halted abruptly to avoid bumping against Gibbs as the three of them turned to a corner. She smiled brightly. "I'm sorry. I should've slowed down walking," she said. She noticed Tony and Ziva, and her smile spread wider. "I'm Nadine Redford, the House Parent here at Children's Home. Are you the couple applying for the Parent Couple position?"

Tony turned his head towards Ziva's direction, prepared for a witty response to Nadine. However, as he met Ziva's glower, he looked away, his grin falling off from his face. "No," Tony replied instead, shaking his head.

"Oh," Nadine said again, frowning. "Oh, I see. Well, what can I help you with?"

"We're from NCIS, Miss Redford," Gibbs responded, holding up his badge momentarily.

"Is this about Anne?" Nadine asked before Gibbs could continue.

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "We'd like to talk to some of the other volunteers here, especially those ones that Junior Petty Officer Talley talked with often."

Nadine nodded. "This way," she said, walking towards her office. "You picked a good day to come, because Mercy and Janette are working today. Anne usually sits with them during lunch time and dinner time. . ."

As the three of them followed the woman, Ziva saw kids either playing or running around the hall. They weren't unattended, although; it was quite the opposite. Men and women volunteers guided and carried small children as they go around the facility. The jovial smiles and grins on their faces were enviable, nonetheless; they did look truly happy. The little ones giggled and ran and argued, and these very things made the building vivid and joyful.

Ziva's lips curled into a smile. It was a beautiful place.

Before the three of them could come into Nadine's office, a child caught Ziva's eyes. Her feet were cemented on the spot as she recognized the little boy's face.

"Oh, no. Not again," Tony muttered as he saw the frown on Ziva's face. "Ziva. Ziva. Ziva, what's the—"

"Joshua?" Ziva spoke the first name that sprang up in her head. "Joshua!"

The mid-aged volunteer stopped when the little boy, who she carried in her arms, was called by the stranger. The child, on the other hand, kept biting his right index finger playfully. "Da da da da da," he kept mumbling to himself repeatedly.

"Joshua?" Ziva asked as she came close to the young child.

"Da da da," the young boy mumbled as he looked up to Ziva.

"Ziva, what are you doing?" Tony asked when he caught up with her.

"Are you. . . are you a relative of Josh's?" the volunteer asked.

"No, but—" Ziva then realized that Tony was beside her, and talking about Tim's photograph would not be a good idea. "I just. . . I just thought he was cute."

The woman examined Ziva's expression for a moment and then nodded. She smiled. "I understand. Joshua here _is _adorable." She turned to the young boy, and then said, "Aren't you going to say hi to this nice lady, Josh? She said you're cute!"

"Da da da," Joshua mumbled, slobber covering his hand. The volunteer chuckled at the sight.

"Look, Ziva, I don't know why you're acting weird," Tony began, "but you have to keep it together. I don't think the bossman appreciates your being sidetracked." He glanced at the baby boy, and a grin began forming in his lips. "Isn't that right, little Josh?" he asked, gently pinching the child's cheeks. "Isn't that right?"

Joshua, irritated by Tony's grasp, withdrew his hand away from his mouth and bit the senior agent's finger.

"Ow!" Tony pulled his hand back, his eyebrows creased. Ziva stifled a chuckle.

"Joshua!" the volunteer chastised the young boy. "No!"

Joshua began biting his own finger gently again, unmoved by the reaction of the people around him. "Da da da. . . No no no," he mumbled.

"Are you two done playing house, or do you want me to hold back the investigation until you decide to call it quits?" Gibbs asked from the door of Nadine's office.

"Coming, Boss," Tony muttered, holding his sore finger close to his chest.

Ziva turned around to follow, disappointed that she could not get answers about Joshua at that moment, but the woman held her arm to impede her.

"You can always come back at a better time," the volunteer said. "Joshua and I will wait."

Ziva gave her an appreciative nod. "Thank you," she whispered.

The woman smiled and let go of her.

Ziva didn't mind the glares Gibbs gave her and Tony's inquisitive stares. She worked with them diligently, especially when they came back to the office. She did not allow any of them the insight that she had found another piece to the puzzle. However, there were still those moments when she would pause and contemplate on whether she should go back to the orphanage or not. What would she find out about Tim this time? Would it be that he was too conceited in his search for peace that he left his son with complete strangers?

What if he was met with a third death? That of his wife, and he couldn't find a better solution but to give up his son to other people who could take better care of him?

Those thoughts frustrated Ziva. They anchored her down, squelching her desire to go on with her search. The photograph of his family struck her hard enough to numb her want to find him. She didn't need anymore of it.

However, after another week of solving a case, she found herself driving back to the orphanage in hopes of seeing Joshua. Safely hidden in her jeans' pocket was the photograph of Tim's family. Several times, she tried to veer the wheel in a different direction but of course, her hands remained steadfast, and her feet stayed half-way buried on the gas pedal. It was as if her body was determined to go on, even if her intuition tells her not to.

Once or twice, before she reached the Children's Home, she saw the deep blue of the sea. She thought then that after she fulfilled her visit to Joshua, she would go to the beach for a walk. The sound of the waves would help soothe her nerves if those need be.

Squeals and giggles, as well as cries of several children floated to her ears as she got off at her destination.

"Hi," two young girls—twins, she guessed—greeted Ziva as she was walking to Nadine's office.

"Hi," Ziva turned around, greeting them politely.

"You look like a princess," the girl with a pink bow on her hair said.

"I do?" Ziva asked, slightly grinning. She sat down to meet their eyes.

"Yes," the other girl with the blue bow answered. "A pretty princess!"

"All you need is a tiara!"

"Oh, and a prince!"

Ziva laughed. "What are your names?" she asked them.

"I'm Samantha," the girl with the pink bow said.

"I'm Sanna," the girl with the blue bow responded.

"It is nice to meet you, Samantha and Sanna," Ziva said.

"What's your name?" Sanna asked.

"Ziva," she answered.

"Um, Miss?"

Ziva rotated around to find the volunteer she met days ago standing behind her. She carried two baby boys in her arms—one of them Joshua—and held close a group of toddlers. "Hi, um. . ."

"Jenny," the woman replied, struggling with the little children both on her arms and on her side. "Maybe it would be better if we go to the playroom. We'll have more privacy."

Ziva nodded. She swiveled around towards the two girls. "I will see both of you around, okay?"

"Okay," Samantha answered. "Bye, Ziva!"

"Bye, Princess!"

Ziva laughed. "Bye," she waved at them, and then followed Jenny.

"These kids," Jenny began, "they can be so cute, and yet they can be so. . . _not_ cute at times."

"I understand," Ziva replied. "When I was younger I used to take care of my little sister."

"Can be such a pain, right?" Jenny said.

They entered a big room not long after. Playpens and various toys were everywhere. Cribs and rocking chairs were there also. At different ends of the side wall were two sliding doors, both of which were slightly ajar. The soft breeze from the ocean gently caressed the thin curtains covering them.

"Now, you're here for Joshua, am I right?" Jenny asked.

Ziva nodded. "I have a question about him," she replied, drawing out the picture.

"Jenny, we need the kids at—" Nadine stopped when she saw the two women inside the room. "Oh. Hi, Miss David. Did you need anything else for Anne's. . ."

"No. I'm here because of a more. . .personal matter," Ziva answered.

"Oh," Nadine's smile spread wider, caused by a misconstrued idea. "I understand. But, if you don't mind, it will only take a second for Jenny to take the kids to the snack room. You know how it is when children gets hungry."

"I can wait," Ziva said. Nadine mouthed a 'Thank you' to her, and then went on her way.

"One volunteer didn't show up at work and look where it's gotten me," Jenny muttered. "Come on, kiddies! We're going to eat. Um, Miss David, do you mind if you take Joshua for a second while I," she handed the baby boy, who was still nibbling on his fingers, mumbling, to Ziva, "take these little tykes for snack."

"But I do not think it best to leave him with a stranger," Ziva said, taking Joshua nonetheless. "Giving him to me can get you fired."

"Don't make this more exciting, Miss David," Jenny gave her a sly look. "Plus, Josh looks comfortable with you. And if he gets cranky—and he will in a second—his bottle is right beside the rocking chair back there. You can sit there if you want."

"Jenny—"

"I'll be back, Miss David," Jenny said, leaving with the herd of children in her tow.

Ziva sighed, and then looked at the baby boy. In turn, he looked at her with his big blue eyes. "Hi, Joshua," Ziva started.

"Da da da da," Joshua frowned lightly, as if inquiring for his father.

"No. Dada is not here right now," Ziva said. She touched his plump cheeks with the back of her fingers. Joshua held on to them, gazing at them to discern what they were.

"Da da. Ba bye," Joshua nodded.

"I actually do not know where he is," Ziva added.

"Mama?" Joshua lifted his eyes back up at her face, then tilted his head.

"No. I am not Mama, Joshua," Ziva replied. Her heart wrung at the sound of the two-syllable word.

After a while, the little boy began whining, scratching his ears with such irritation. His face scrunched up, and he began squirming.

"You are hungry, yes?" Ziva asked while she walked to the rocking chair. She sat down, and then picked up the blue bottle beside it. She removed the cap, and then handed it to Joshua.

The little boy quieted down, accepting Ziva's offer to him. He settled down with his bottle, and then buried his face in the stranger's arms.

Ziva smiled. Slowly, she began rocking back and forth, watching Joshua as he closed his eyes. She hummed the familiar lullaby that her mother used to sing to her and Tali when they were little. When she heard his rhythmic breathing and the meek beats of his heart, she gazed at the horizon that stretched in front of her.

The pool of blue above gave reign to the flame that bestowed light upon everything. The trees swayed subtly with the breeze. The ocean, it glimmered. With these images on her mind, she closed her eyes.

Then, she imagined Tim holding his slumbering son after a long day of work. Maybe they would be in a rocking chair, too. Amidst the silence would come the fatal burden that troubled him greatly. With the deaths and sadness drowning him, he would capsize.

However, with one glance, that unexplainable joy provided by little Joshua's presence would surround all of his problems like a bubble. It would fly away to oblivion and, even for a moment, would make the while better to Tim.

Before the night ends, Tim would kiss Joshua goodnight, keeping close to his heart what kindness the little boy had done to him.

Before going to sleep, Tim would kiss his wife goodnight, too.

Ziva felt her throat tighten painfully as an image of the couple formed in her head.

"Miss David?"

Ziva opened her eyes and saw Jenny beside her. She smiled, and then stood up. "Joshua fell asleep," she said, handing the little child back to the volunteer.

"Oh, uh, okay," Jenny said, bewildered by the guest's immediate decision let go of the baby. "Now, you're here to ask about Joshua. And the man on the picture, if I remember it right, is Josh's dad. Are you here to ask about him, too?"

Ziva shook her head. "No, thank you," she said, a grimace on her face. "I think I've found out enough for me to stop." After giving Jenny a courteous nod, she left for her car.

"Miss David? Wait!" Jenny called, but it served no use.

Ziva recognized the fact that other actions after she left the orphanage were driven automatically by her mind. She was only conscious of her pondering. Who was she kidding? Running after a married man with a wife and a child was wrong. It didn't matter if Tim said in his e-mail that he was constantly thinking of her, which was why he chose her to be the person who would experience being in his shoes. It definitely didn't matter that she was thinking about him a lot as well. Heck, it wouldn't even be a big deal if she admitted that she was falling for him.

He belonged to someone else, and she and Tim should acknowledge that.

Why did he keep those secrets from the team? She didn't know. Why did he leave his child behind? She didn't know, too, and she doubted she would even dare to care. They should begin living in two separate worlds now.

That way, she wouldn't be stretched behind her limits to exhaustion anymore.

Ziva realized after a while that she was already at the beach and was strolling along the shoreline. The hems of her jeans were folded up to her knees where the warm salt water couldn't touch it. The light brown sand yielded under her feet, creating that delicate sensation against her skin. The ocean air blew on the coast, and it made wisps of her hair dance along with it.

There were only a few people she could see, as she expected at that dawn of eve, and most of them have withdrawn to their vacation homes. At one of the houses, a family was eating their dinner on the balcony. One of teenagers brought out a radio, and plugged it in to play some music.

Ziva noticed the waves while she continued her tread. They had a certain pace, a certain song as they rolled along the sands. It came to her that they were bound to that perpetual reaching but never achieving.

And, somehow, it saddened her to think that perhaps she was destined to be that way, too.

Her phone began vibrating in her pocket. Without bothering to see who the caller was, she answered the phone. "David."

"Ziva?"

Ziva froze. That voice. It was familiar. She would know it, because it belonged to the person that she had been looking for. "Tim?"

The pause told Ziva that he smiled. "I thought you wouldn't remember me anymore," he said.

Right then, the radio from the balcony began playing a song.

* * *

**Reviews are very, very welcome! :D **


	6. Chapter 6

**_Author's Note: Thanks to ThePenIsMighty, RedDragen, and mollygibbs101! I appreciate your comments! :D _**

**_Disclaimer:_****_ NCIS and the idea for this fic are not mine. "I'll Be" by Edwin McCain ain't mine either. :P_**

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Several birds flew up in the sky as the ocean waves reached their talons. Above, blending with the gentle violet and orange, they dotted the almost non-existent clouds. They moved their wings with that unrestricted freedom; they weren't afraid, for they knew that the air would take care of them. As long as the wind blew and the ocean stretched towards the horizon, everything would be alright.

Ziva, although, felt unconfident. She became uncertain with her movements. It had been months, almost half a year already, since she last spoke to Tim. She didn't want to lose the opportunity she had.

The teenager who brought out the radio turned the volume up.

_The strands in your eyes  
That color them wonderful  
Stop me and steal my breath_

"What made you think that I will forget you?" Ziva asked the only words she could think of at that moment.

"It's been a long time since we spoke with each other," Tim answered. He chuckled as a thought entered his mind. "You missed me?"

"What do you think?" Ziva asked, grinning. "Tony had been bothering me a lot since you left."

"I can arrange for a box of paperclips to be at your desk by Monday," Tim suggested.

"Do not tempt me," Ziva said. Her grin faltered into a smile as she remembered the others. "A lot has changed since you left, Tim. Abby rarely visits the bullpen. Gibbs, he's. . . I think he is frustrated that he could not find you."

"So you haven't told them about me."

"No," Ziva answered. The evening breeze rushed past her, and it suddenly made her crave for warmth. She began walking again. "You know that I would have helped you with your problems if you just told me."

Tim was silent for a moment. He sighed. "I should do this by myself, Ziva," he said. Ziva sensed hesitation in his voice, and, perhaps, and inkling of shame. "I have to learn how to stop depending on people. I don't want to be a load to carry."

"Who told you that you are? Tim—a lot of people need you. The team needs you, Tony and Gibbs and Abby need you, Joshua needs you—"  
"Joshua," Tim interjected, delighted with the mention of the name. "You've met Joshua."

"Yes," Ziva nodded. "And he was looking for you. Tim, how could you just leave your son in that situation? Why did you leave him with people he doesn't even know?"

"Well. . . the process papers are taking too long to, uh, process," Tim answered in that tone that was as innocent and reluctant as a child's.  
"Process papers? For your own son?"

"As much as I want to take him with me right now, I can't," Tim chuckled. "The adoption agency will have me locked up if I did."

Adoption. The word made Ziva feel foolish. She should have known better than to let her assumptions blind her. Little Joshua was not his son; for now, at least. That was why he was in the orphanage.

Too much emotion, but Ziva thought that it was just because of her desperation to find Tim. She had to see him, feel him.

By then, everything would come back to order.

_Rain falls angry on the tin roof  
As we lie awake in my bed  
You're my survivor  
You're my living proof  
My love is alive  
Not dead_

"Ziva?" Tim said.

A smirk tugged at the end of Ziva's lips. "You had me running around with your little raccoon hunt," she said, watching her feet subdue the soft sand underneath her.

"It's fun to play scavenger hunt every now and then," Tim answered. Ziva could tell that he was smiling again. She heard the soft echo of the ocean and had to look at the waves.

"Ah," Ziva nodded. "And you're my prize?"

"N-no," Tim stammered nervously. "That was not what I meant. Don't think I'm suggesting—"

"I'm kidding," Ziva chuckled, acknowledging her teasing.

_Tell me that we belong together  
Dress it up with the trappings of love  
I'm being captivated  
I'll hang from your lips  
Instead of the gallows of heartache  
That hangs from above_

Ziva laughed.

"That's not nice, Ziva," Tim replied, sighing because of relief.

Ziva giggled. Gradually, although, she stopped. She remembered that night when she sat inside his bedroom, the loneliness she experienced. Then, those things she sensed when she knelt in front of Kate's grave. Sat in Miss Alyosha's office, looking through Margaret's photo album.  
And when she held Joshua in her arms, when he was asking for his Dada and calling her his Mama.

"Tim, please come back home," Ziva said, her voice almost in a whisper. "I can't—Or, if you really don't want to, let me see you. Even just once. Please, just. . ."

For a while, they were both silent.

"I'm always with you, Ziva. Even if you can't see me," Tim began. "I don't know if you'll still go on looking for me, but even if you don't. . ." Then, he became reluctant.

_And I've dropped out, burned up  
I fought my way back from the dead_

"Always know that I never meant to hurt you."

Ziva felt another lump thickening in her throat.

_Tuned in, turned on  
Remembered the things that you said_

"Sometimes I do think about it," Tim continued, his tone evident of sadness. "What you might be feeling. And I apologize. I wish that I could go home, but I can't. I want to see all of you so bad, but I couldn't. Like I said, I need to do this alone. Maybe one day, when it's all done, I'll come back."

"But what if it never ends?" Ziva asked, blinking back the tears made by the fear swelling inside her.  
"I'll have no choice but to stay away."

_And I'll be your crying shoulder  
I'll be love's suicide  
I'll be better when I'm older  
I'll be the greatest fan of your life_

"I miss you, Tim," Ziva said, feeling her heart wring in her chest.

Then, Tim responded with four words that made everything spin. They engraved themselves in her mind, and it made her giddy. It seemed as if the waves, as it crashed against the shore, sped up and slowed down.

The aged sun, its beauty seemed more pronounced. It graciously veiled her with its mild light.

_The greatest fan of your life. . ._

"Good bye, Ziva," Tim said, and then he hung up.

Ziva slowly lowered the phone from her ears. She stared at it, as if hoping that it would ring again, but it didn't. She sighed, and then shut her phone.

Two birds soared infinitely amidst the darkening clouds. With chirps and the fearless flapping of their wings, they welcomed the wind together.  
At the balcony, the family talked and laughed, beautifying the forthcoming night with their joy.

Although Ziva was surrounded with these, with the magnificent young night, with the ocean finally caressing her ankles and her toes, and with the endless stretch of life before her, she had never felt so alone.

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	7. Chapter 7

**_Disclaimer: NCIS is not mine, nor is the idea for this story._**

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**Chapter Seven**

Ziva chuckled as she saw the content of the small white box waiting for her at her desk the following Monday morning. The big folded metals grinned at her as soon as the bright sunlight hit it. _Paperclips, _she shook her head. She noticed that along with it were a white calla lily and a small blue card. She picked both up and read the scribble on the latter. _A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady, and some paperclips to fulfill a promise. From, The Prize. _Ziva smiled.

"Good morning to you, too," Tony raised his eyebrows, curiously surveying his partner.

"Tony," Ziva acknowledged him with a pleasant glance.

Tony stood up, propelled by his instinct to investigate the other's behavior further. "So, uh, that came from someone special, huh?" he asked, watching as Ziva's eyes sparkle and pink taint her cheeks while she gazed upon the calla lily.

"Must you always stick your nose into my business?" Ziva asked calmly.

"No, but, you know, just wondering."

Ziva placed down the gifts given to her, and then sat down on her swivel chair. "Hmm," she replied instead, commencing on her work to dismiss the conversation. It made her heart swell to know that Tim was thinking of her, and she knew that her face reflected it, but it was still important that no one knew about their secret. It was one of his request in his e-mail from months ago, that no one should know about him but her.

Tony, however, determined to draw out the truth from her, resorted to the first question that his mind urged him to ask. "This person really knows about your skills with paperclips," he said nonchalantly after checking what the small white box contained. For a moment, in his periphery, he saw her stiffen. He continued to press on. "He sent that to you so you can—"

"Again, DiNozzo," Ziva's eyes shot up to his face threateningly. "This is none of your concern."

Tony scoffed good-naturedly. "All I wanted to know is—"

"You do not have to know anything."

"—if there's something you're not telling us."

"Is it really necessary that everyone know about the things that I do?" Ziva sprang up to her feet, glaring at Tony in the eyes. Nervousness pounded on her chest, but she masqueraded it with anger.

"It is."

Both of them swiveled their heads to see Gibbs walking towards them, Abby in his tow.

"Especially if it's about him," Gibbs nodded to the empty desk at the right corner of the bullpen.

Ziva remained quiet for a while. How could they possibly know?

"Ziva," Gibbs prodded, but the young agent remained unmoved.

"Ziva," Abby stepped up. "Ziva, it's been months since we last saw McGee. We're utterly clueless on where he is, what he's doing—even just the fact if he's still alive or not. Please," she bit her lip with desperation. "If you know something, tell us. We miss him a lot, too."

Ziva's throat tightened because of the empathy she felt. Although, it was an unspoken promise between her and Tim. She couldn't break his trust now. No, especially not when she felt like she was on the verge of finding him.

Gibbs grabbed one of the sticky notes from the side of his phone, consulted it, and then looked up at Ziva. "Miss Redford called earlier," he began. "Said she didn't know your phone number but knew mine, so she gave me a ring. She asked me to tell you that you can always come back whenever you need the information you wanted, and that Joshua was looking for you when he woke up. She said you were in such a hurry to leave that she wondered if there was anything wrong."

"Joshua?" Abby frowned at Gibbs.

"The little baby boy Ziva somehow knew when we visited the Children's Home," Tony supplemented. "That's not the only thing we found out, though. Months ago you borrowed a car from Enterprise. Abby calculated the miles the car ran, and we thought that you probably went either in Indiana or Ohio. Then Ducky told us that you asked him about Kate's grave, and we figured that you did visit her."

"That, and when we came back to McGee's apartment, one of the evidences is missing." Gibbs walked closer to Ziva that they were only a feet apart. He could hear her heart hammering inside her through her feigned calm breathing, and it gave his thought half an affirmation. "We called Kate's family in Indiana to ask if they have the picture, and they said they just found it on Kate's grave. Now I don't know what you're trying to hide. I don't know if you're just enjoying seeing all of us scramble in the dark when you actually know something, but I really think it's time for you to speak up."

"I do. . . I do not know where he is," Ziva answered honestly.

"We don't, too," Tony said. "But it would really help a lot if you told us what you've found. Better yet, if you've already found him."

"I've told you already. I do not know where he is!"

"With all the things you know—"

"All I know is that Tim is nowhere to be found."

"We figured that seven months ago, Ziva."

"Look," Gibbs said, becoming more and more worn out by each second. "If something horrible happened to McGee, I promise you, you're the one that I'm going to hold accountable."

Silence blanketed the whole bullpen after Gibbs spoke. Ziva continued steadfast, although she could not deny the threat seeping inside her. She knew, although, that she had to face the challenge. If she truly respected Tim's wishes, she had to be courageous.

Not long after, a low-pitched ring broke through the stillness. Four pairs of eyes cunningly glided towards Ziva's desk, where the black phone cried. Ziva picked it up, not waiting for Gibbs to reject the phone call, and then prolong the awkward moment once more. "Hello?" she answered.

"Good morning," Tim greeted happily on the other line. "You received the package I sent you?"

"Oh, uh," Ziva nervously glanced at the other people surrounding her. "This might not be the right time to talk about it."

"Ah. Tony's there."

"And. . ."

"And Boss," Tim added.

"Yes," Ziva replied.

"That's perfect."

Ziva frowned, and it elicited similar expressions from everyone. "Perfect? What do you mean it is perfect?" she asked.

"Can you, um," Tim requested reluctantly, "can you put me on speaker phone?"

"You want to talk to them?"

"Ziva?" Abby called to her attention.

"I think it's time," Tim said.

Ziva nodded obediently, smiling as she pressed a button and rested the receiver back to its place. "You're on, Tim," she said.

"Tim?" Tony asked Ziva, making sure that his ears weren't fooling him. "As in McGee? Like Probie?"

"Yes, Tony," Tim chuckled. "I am all of the above."

"Oh my goodness. Tim," Abby rushed closer to the phone. "I miss you! Are you hurt? We're so worried!"

"I miss you, too, Abby. I'm. . . I'm not hurt, and I'm sorry if I worried you."

"You better not be lying, McGee," Gibbs warned firmly, although glad to hear Tim's voice again.

"No, boss," Tim said. "And I apologize for all of the hassle. It will not happen again."

"Where are you, McGee?" Tony asked. "Are you coming back this week?"

At first, Tim was hesitant to respond. Ziva could just imagine him, if he was there with them, giving her a look that entreated her for help. As she would have done, she maintained her speechlessness. "I don't think I'll come home anytime soon, Tony," he said.

Dismay was visible on all of their faces. "But you will at least next month, right?" Abby inquired hopefully, but received no reply. She sighed, becoming crushed at heart. "Timmy, how did this happen?"

Ziva listened intently as Tim enlightened them to his situation. He spoke about Kate, Margaret, and Joshua. Her accuracy on several things surprised her, even wryly scared her at some parts. She noticed, however, that he left out what he felt about the things he have gone through, those ones which she knew but didn't tell the rest of the team. It made her giddily delighted, like a little girl keeping safe a whispered confidence from her childhood sweetheart.

"And don't blame Ziva for this. If anything, she had been understanding to me," Tim said, and Ziva pictured him looking at her with his emerald green eyes, an appreciative smile on his lips. "All of the harm caused, I'll shoulder, but don't blame her."

Ziva smiled, taking note of her soul's growing affinity to him.

"Before I go, there's one more thing that I wanted to ask," Tim's voice vaguely quivered, and it worried them. "Tony?"

"Yeah, Probester."

"Can you please make sure my replacement will take good care of the computer at my desk? It's clean, and I equipped it with a lot of programs that would help you guys track down a suspect faster."

"What do you mean by 'replacement', McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"I gave most of my stuff away to the night staff, but I left something for you, Ziva. Right upper corner drawer."

"McGee, you're not answering my question," Gibbs firmly stated.

"I think Tony would be the best judge in finding a new person to torture. I know that whoever you'd take under your wing would be a great agent, Tony," Tim said. "And it would be a great honor to him or her to be in your team, Boss. Like it was for me."

"Are you saying that. . ." Abby began, but found the thought hard to push out of her mouth.

"Ziva."

Ziva lifted up the phone to her ears, slowly pushing a button, stunned by another revelation. "Tim," was all she managed to say.

"It's because I can't drag all of you down with me."

"What?"

"You shouldn't be sad. You're too beautiful to be sad."

"Because you're not here," she replied, discovering herself indignant.

"I'm always with you. I'm with you when you walk under the moonlight, when you run through the rain, when you stroll along the shore. I'm always with you." He stopped briefly. "And what I love the most is seeing you during sunset, when your hair is blown gently by the wind and when I can see the outline of your face. . ."

Her heart skipped a beat. "You were there," she said almost in a whisper, remembering that day when she first spoke to him, when she walked at the beach.

". . . because that's when I feel the most that you're with me."

"I. . ."

"Good bye, Ziva," he said, and then he hung up the phone. She could feel three people watching her, hoping that she would give them a final message from Tim that he may have neglected to say, but she couldn't face them.

Because she adored him more and more and more, but her chances of seeing him became less and less. She hated that she craved for his touch and the sound of his heartbeat, but loved the idea that he might be craving for hers, too.

She proceeded to Tim's desk and did what she could at the moment: find the thing that would lead her to the eighth cause of his departure.

"Gibbs." Director Vance's solemn tone awoke most of them up from their trance. In his hand he held a pristine white envelope. "I need to talk to you for a moment."

"That's from my missing person. Isn't it," Gibbs nodded dismally at the object.

Director Vance paused, making sure that it was appropriate to disclose his message in the bullpen, to all of them.

Ziva anticipated a gloomy news. Instead of waiting for it, she drew out the right upper drawer in McGee's desk. In it lied a stack of letters, all addressed to the McGee's, held together by shabby rubber bands.

Director Vance nodded. "I saw it on my desk yesterday. It's a letter from Agent McGee, saying that he's resigning from NCIS."

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	8. Chapter 8

**_Author's Note: _I apologize for not updating soon, guys. Things had been a lot hectic lately, and my updates had been anything but fast. :P Anyways, I want to thank everyone who keeps leaving very heartwarming comments, as well as putting this on their favorite stories and their story alerts. It sure does encourages me to keep writing! One day I'll have the time to sit down in front of my computer and send all of you a PM to personally thank you! ^_^ **

**For last chapter, thanks for these ones who took their time to give me feedback! : mollygibbs101 = Leonie1988 = CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER = Jezebel Two-Rivers = PlushItBunny**

**I hope everyone enjoys this new chapter!**

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**Chapter Eight**

"Good morning, Mrs. McGee," Ziva greeted as soon as the red door opened.

Mrs. McGee smiled. "Good morning, Ziva," she responded. She gently removed the olive green oven mitt from her left hand. "I'm sorry that I have to come out like this," she mumbled bashfully. "Anyways, we've been expecting you."

Ziva frowned lightly. "You have?" she asked.

"Yes. Oh, uh," Mrs. McGee stepped aside, "come in! Come in."

At first, Ziva was reluctant to set foot inside the house. Her only task was to deliver what Tim left for his family. After that, she planned to go back to her apartment to spend the rest of her Saturday morning getting some things done. However, Mrs. McGee's gentleness propelled her to do what she was told.

"Tim called a couple of days ago and said that you'd be visiting," Mrs. McGee related, closing then locking the front door. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No, ma'am," she answered. "I only came here to," she then took out the bundle of letters from her jean pocket, "give these to you."

Mrs. McGee took the papers, her eyebrows slightly creased, and then shuffled through them. She smiled when she remembered what were written in them.

"I meant to drop it off as soon as I found it, but I never had the time until today. I apologize for coming this late," Ziva continued. For a moment, she wondered what the letters said, but then she decided that it wasn't for her to find out. It was for his family, and she should respect their privacy. "I will leave you with those. Have a good day," she smiled, and then headed for the door.

"No, sweetheart," Mrs. McGee said, stopping Ziva. "Please. Stay for breakfast. Everybody made something, and I'm sure you'll like it."

"But, I could not intrude—"

"No," the elder woman warmly said. "You're not. Now, let's go. The kitchen's just straight ahead."

Before Ziva could protest, she found herself being ushered forward. Her feet automatically treaded, while her eyes wandered around. She thought that the house was nice. The jubilant sunlight bounced off the cream-colored walls, the glass doors that faced the colorful garden outside provided a lively painting, and the aroma of the food wafting to her nose were undeniably making her famished. She also saw various pictures. Most were of Tim or Sarah, some were of both of them, and a little were of Mr. and Mrs. McGee's photographs. She found herself almost grinning. She remembered when she used to play hide and seek with Tali around their house. On her way to her usual hiding place, she would always pass by the table that housed what seemed like hundreds of family pictures.

However, she never did feel happy looking at them. They were like those foreign faces that smiled for the camera only because they had to.

"Mom, who was—"

Ziva stopped before she could go further. She felt more out of place when she saw Mr. McGee and Sarah looking at her. She wasn't supposed to be in their house. It was just. . . wrong.

"Ziva?" Sarah frowned. Then, she shook it off when she thought of the compulsive act inappropriate. "Oh, I'm sorry," she amended, then carried the pan of hot biscuits to the counter. "That was rude. Hi. Ziva."

"Hello, Sarah," Ziva forced a smile on her lips.

"Matthew, Sarah, Ziva's going to join us for breakfast," Mrs. McGee informed, beaming at their guest.

"Ah. One more victim for our McGee's morning madness," Mr. McGee chuckled, pulling one more chair to the dining table. He tapped it playfully. "Here's your electric chair."

"That's very encouraging, Dad," Sarah rolled her eyes, smirking while she transferred the biscuits into a big yellow bowl. "I'm sure Ziva would love to eat after that wonderful introduction."

Her parents laughed in unison at her response. Mrs. McGee strode towards the fridge, taking out boxes of orange juice. "Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart. We're just about ready to eat," she told their guest.

"Mrs. McGee, I. . . I really think—"

"Oh, no. No excuses. You have to join us, Ziva," Mr. McGee said, finalizing the setting of the table before sitting down.

"Don't worry," Sarah grinned at her from her seat. "We may get crazy, but we don't bite."

Ziva chuckled. "Alright." Then, she proceeded towards the chair between Mrs. McGee and Sarah.

Before she could even settle down, the mother and daughter already filled her plate with biscuits, eggs, and strips of bacon. She felt her lips parting into an appreciative grin, the more so when Sarah placed a blueberry muffin on the saucer in front of her and Mrs. McGee poured her a glass of orange juice. "Thank you," she muttered to the two, who only gave her polite nods.

"So, Ziva. How's work been?" Mr. McGee inquired.

"It has been. . . busy lately. It had been harder since we lost one member of the team," Ziva answered.

"Mm. I must admit. I was a bit shocked when Tim told us that he's leaving NCIS." Mr. McGee sighed. "But I guess he really needed to. My son can be a bit unpredictable."

"Which only happens once in a blue moon. It's a shocker," Sarah commented before taking a mouthful of bite of her muffin.

"I am so sorry about what happened," Ziva said quietly, her fingers growing so weak that she thought she would let go of her fork any second. She was still the first cause why he left. That must mean she was the core reason, and he might have told his family. For a moment, she imagined that even if they smiled at her, inside they were angry. Maybe they blamed her.

"You shouldn't be, sweetie," Mrs. McGee placed her hand on Ziva's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "It's not your fault. Tim just came to that point in his life where he had to make some changes, some important decisions."

"I have done something. I do not know yet, but I have done something to make him leave," Ziva looked up at them, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. It was a surprise to hear herself spilling her feelings in front of Tim's family. She tried to bridle her tongue, but it didn't work. "It _is_ my fault."

"I think it's all of ours," Mr. McGee smiled bitterly. "But that's not to say that you or we have done him wrong. Look. Timothy is a thoughtful man. He does too much thinking, in fact, that he's able to just be that way and keep inside what's bothering him. One day he'll come around and, he'll just say it."

"And I really think he'll come home soon, Ziva," Sarah added. "When he does, I'll leave him to your mercy."

Ziva scoffed good-naturedly. "I hope he will, too, Sarah," she said, wishing for the fulfillment of every word she said. Then, she continued eating.

"You know, I don't think this surprises me much," Mrs. McGee interjected. "Him leaving, I mean. When Tim was little, he used to tell me and his Dad about the places he have read from books, those ones he wanted to go to. There were a lot of them."

"Yeah. I remembered how he used to ask me if we can go to Brazil for the rainforests," Mr. McGee chimed in. "He said that he wants to see a lot of the animals there."

"Remember Egypt?"

"Oh, that one, too," the father grinned. "He used to dress up as Indiana Jones when he was five. He said he was going to discover a mummy's tomb in our backyard. It used to drive Jenny insane."

"He destroys the entire garden just for that!" Mrs. McGee exclaimed, then the older couple laughed together. Soon after, Ziva and Sarah joined in. "Oh, my. Then, he will have this very funny look on his face whenever he digs up a pebble. Yeah; he says those are treasures." Mrs. McGee exhaled, although the next thought reopened old wounds. "He said we can sell those things to museums so we can have a lot of money. By then, his dad wouldn't have to go overseas, we wouldn't live from paycheck to paycheck, and he said all of us will be happy forever."

Ziva felt a pinch in her heart when she heard it. Tim. He always amazed her every time she unraveled something about him.

"Although," Mr. McGee added, "his favorite has to be London."

"I agree."

"He said he didn't know why, but he have always wanted to go there. He said the night lights are beautiful and that there's just something about that city that he wanted to see," Mr. McGee shrugged. "He never had the chance to go there, though. He saves money, but then something comes up, and he just give all of what he has for us."

"What about his books?" Ziva asked. "He told me that he had to go to London one weekend for a book signing."

"He canceled it," Sarah responded. "That one was on me. I got really, really sick that week. I told him to go, but he said he couldn't leave with me in that condition. That twerp," she smiled to herself. "He stayed with me."

Ziva noticed a few moments later that she have finished her breakfast. It made her frown, since she have never eaten that much before. Maybe it was the delicious food, or the warm company she was with, or both. Nonetheless, she felt satisfied. It almost made her laugh. It had been long ago since she felt that way, content.

"My favorite book? Well, I have a lot of them," Mrs. McGee answered her husband's question.

"Speaking of books," Sarah stood up from her chair, and then went to the small bookshelf nearby. "I nicked a manuscript of Tim's new book from his apartment when I visited him months ago." She gingerly pulled out a fastened stack of papers from between two aged encyclopedias. "I don't know if he ever found out I took it, but hey." Then, she handed it to Ziva.

"Rock Hollow?" Ziva asked while leafing through it.

"Oh, no," Sarah shook her head. "It's really a new one. 'Strike the Walls'. I think this has to be his best book. Oh, and get this: I don't think he used any of you for his characters anymore."

"What is it about?" Ziva lifted her eyes towards Sarah.

"It's about this woman soldier during the Cold War. She's pretty kick-butt, if you ask me. The narrator, I think, is a guy. Hmm. . . I think he was a member of the group that's fighting against the girl's troop, too. Anyways, it's a great story, especially when you get to the part where the narrator was falling in love with her. It'll just spoil the fun if I told you everything," Sarah smirked. "Plus, I think this book is dedicated to someone."

"To someone? Who?"

Sarah exchanged glances with her parents, who only smiled slyly as they cleaned up the table. "You have to find it out yourself," she said.

Feeling the slightly wrinkled front page against her fingers, she nodded. The words hidden underneath the sheets excited her. She wondered what his new story was about. Sarah said he dedicated it to someone. It was a bit peculiar for her to feel that way, but she was giddied with the thought. Was it for a person that would lead her to him? Was it for his family? Was it for her?

Or, she thought, was it for his wife?

She tried to appear as grateful as she could to Tim's family, but she still had the feeling that she was nothing but a trespasser to their home. Surely they have met Tim's wife, and they wouldn't appreciate her being consumed with thoughts of their married family member.

However, she couldn't stop doubting. Why were they very welcoming to her then, as if they were accepting someone who would later be a part of their family? She was not sure if she was over thinking their warmth and kindness to her, but something told her that she was right.

After giving her thanks to Tim's parents, she and Sarah walked towards the door. She decided that for today, maybe she would concentrate on Tim's story instead rather than drown in her disquieting ideas.

"You know," Sarah said as their guest was stepping out, "it's not wrong to love Tim."

Ziva felt as if a cold bucket of icy water was splashed on her chest. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I thought Tommy and Lisa was _the _couple, but that's so bogus. I found that out when I met you during, you know. I watched you and my brother, and it's become clear to me that McGreggor likes Lisa. If you don't believe me, you'll find the proof on pages 7, 13, 35, 98, and 113 to 115 of 'Rock Hollow'," Sarah added. "As much as I don't want to get into Tim's love life, which rarely takes off from point zero, I feel like I have to say something about what I see. Your face lit up like stage lights when you heard Mom and Dad's stories about Tim. Your eyes looked teary whenever we talked about him missing. Clearly, you feel something for him."

Ziva pondered about all of what she said, and simply shook her head. "It's. . . It is wrong, Sarah," she said, picturing Tim with his wife, both of them happy somewhere.

"It's not a sin to tell someone what you feel for them, Ziva. Especially when you know it's right," Sarah smiled. Ziva, absorbing the entirety of the advice in her, only nodded. "Take good care of yourself," Sarah said.

"You, too," Ziva replied. Then, she went to her car, holding close the manuscript of Tim's new story.

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	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: My apologies for taking so long to update. :P I was working on NaNoWriMo pretty much the whole month last month. **

**Anyways, thanks to the following who left really nice comments from the last chapter! ^_^**

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**Disclaimer:**** (Just refer to previous chapters.) :)**

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**Chapter Nine**

_I never did understand why she still kept me alive to this day. It is not like I serve her any good. In fact, all I am is a danger to her life. What more can she expect from keeping an enemy soldier—an American soldier—at a small shack that she herself had built, supplying him with plenty of food and water while her comrades outside are beginning to fall ill because of their lack of sustenance? It is a scary scenario to imagine when that day comes where both of us will receive the uneventful end of this affair. One of her countrymen, which may have resentfully admired her because of her bravery and skills, will have that chance to prove himself in front of the whole troop when she and I are found. All it takes is a bullet for me, and then three for her. _

_For a moment, I loathe her conscience. She should not have rescued me during that crossfire an eternity ago. She should have just gave her three shots to me._

Ziva's toes curled under the comforter, her knees drawing close to her as she read the eleventh chapter of Tim's book. After coming from the McGee's home, she changed back into her house clothes, brewed some coffee, and then curled up on her bed with the manuscript Sarah gave her. _To my Zelda. Someday I'll tell you why, _the dedication read, and it made her smile.

Since she began going through the story, she rarely stopped. She didn't even notice the time go by; she didn't eat lunch until four o'clock in the afternoon.

Although, she thought, it wasn't a big deal. After all, it was, in agreement to Sarah, a good book. Maybe it was because the story was the kind that she preferred most of the time: a historical fiction. The main characters were caught in the war between the powers ruling East and West Germany. The Berlin Wall was being constructed then. At least, at that part of the story. She was excited by the tension between the opposing camps, but she fell more in love with the main characters.

She admired how Tom and Zelda were different but similar at the same time. What Tom lacked, Zelda picked up. Tom was a young, American soldier who was not that courageous and did not know what he was doing half of the time. Zelda was a young, German soldier who was brave, daring, and sharp. What made their cross paths was that short encounter in Meiningen.

_I don't suppose my heart beats inside my chest anymore; it already stopped when I saw her point the gun at my chest a minute ago. I lie here on the ground, looking at her in the eyes, waiting for her to pull the trigger. Although, she might already have. There are tales of other men getting shot and not knowing they have been hit until someone from their platoon come to their aid and start covering their wounds. That, or when their life cease altogether. In the distance echoes guns being fired, so who's to say that none of those were at me?_, Ziva remembered the particular passage from the third chapter.

She laughed at certain parts, and sometimes she thought it was inappropriate—only because she felt like she laughing at herself and at Tim. One instance was when Zelda was teaching Tom how to speak German in the fifth chapter.

_"Nein, Tom Davis. Es ist 'Ich bin ein Berliner'," Zelda says to me. _

_"Ich bein in Berliner," I try, nervous that I will get it wrong._

_Zelda begins to shake with laughter. "Nein, nein," she shakes her head. "Ich _bin ein _Berliner."_

_For a moment, I regard her with contempt. How does she count on me to get those words right at the first time anyway? Then, thinking about what I probably said, a grin stretches across my face. "Well, dang it, Zelda. This is hopeless. I don't know what I said," I tell her._

_"Said?" she repeats, motioning with her right hand to make sure of the meaning. "Du meinst 'sagte'?" _

_I shrug in response. _

_She retreats in her brain for a while, and then came out with the a hopeful answer. "You, ah, said. . . You leg," she touches my knees, "Berlin."_

_I look at her face, at her childlike smile, and chuckle._

Ziva felt like she was Tom at that time, and Tim was Zelda. She remembered how she was when she first came to NCIS. Most of the time, she got her idioms and words confused, and Tim would politely correct her.

Then, there was that time when Zelda lost two of her younger friends in another battle against the camp from the West Wall. She came in angry, almost tearing the whole shack apart, a weapon tucked under her arm, while Tom watched her.

_"What's the matter, Zelda?" I gamble stepping near her._

_"Die Menschen! Diese Menschen, töteten sie Alexander und Ivan! Sie. . . Sie," she rants, although it's more to herself than me. "Ich hätte dort sein sollen, um sie wieder auf. Ich sollte es gewesen sein!"_

_I draw closer. "Zelda—"_

_"No!" she screams. "Go away!"_

_Silence thickens momentarily before I speak again. "Es ist. . .nicht. . .deine Schuld," I attempt. _

_Zelda turns at me, still infuriated, but I had a feeling that she understood. I nod, and then walk back to my usual corner and sat there, leaving her alone._

Her chest tightened after she read that part. _It's not your fault, _Tom said. There had been many times where she herself had been angry with everything and everyone, including herself. At some days she opted to run it out, but mostly, Tim would be there when she broke down. She acknowledge the fact that her tongue would transform into a sword that would go into motion then. He only remained quiet on those occasion, letting her release what had been locked in her chest.

Afterwards, like Tom, he would nod, and tell her that she shouldn't blame herself.

At nights, that always made her smile.

Stretching, Ziva briefly glanced at the clock. Eight at night. She absent-mindedly grabbed the control from her nightstand, turned on the TV, and went back to reading. Amidst the little noise in the background, she delved more into the contents left in the seventeenth chapter.

_"What is wrong, Tom?" Zelda asks as I fight to regain my breath back. "You have a nightmare, ja?"_

_I shake my head. A lump begin to expand in my airways, and I immediately cough it out. "Zelda, I need to go home. My parents, my sister. . . I can't—"_

_"Shh. It is okay."_

_"No. Zelda, it's not. I can't stay here anymore. There are things I have to do, some things I have to fix. And you, you don't need me as another load to carry."_

_"You are not a load, Tom."_

_"You've kept me for a year and a half now. Look. I'd rather have you alive than dead with me." I stand up swiftly, and then grab my backpack and my jacket from the rickety wooden table. "I'm crossing the wall tonight. Now."_

_"Tom." I feel Zelda's hand in mine, and it forces me to face her. She holds a firm yet terrified expression on her face, one that I haven't seen before. "Stay with me."_

_"Thank you for everything, Zelda," I reply before cautiously stepping out of the shack, regretting the fact that I neglected to tell her why I'm leaving. _

"So what's the title of your book?"

Ziva lifted her eyes up to the television screen, frowning at the perky woman doing the interview as she turned to the next page. She was loaded with wonder as to whether Tim would answer a question that she herself was asking.

"Uh, it's entitled 'Strike the Walls'."

She quickly turned back to the television. Picking up the remote once again, she increased the volume. She eyed the interviewee. He was a man that appeared to be only a bit older than Tony. He wore a commercial smile, and dressed in classy clothes that she saw in Sunday sale papers.

"It's a very intriguing title, I'll tell you that, Charlie," the woman said, adding a vain laugh.

"I was really hoping that it would be."

"Now, for those who might have missed it, Charlie Johnston's newly published book is about. . ."

"Oh, uh," the man chuckled as he understood his cue, "my latest novel is about a guy named Tim Davis and a German soldier named Zelda Solzhenitsyn. Their paths met during a confrontation. Um, it's set during the Cold War, and I think everyone would enjoy it."

"Tim? I thought it was Tom," the woman asked.

There was a shadow of surprise that passed by the interviewee's eyes. "Oh. Sorry! I meant Tom," he chuckled.

"That's alright," the woman chimed in. "Can you give us some spoiler? You know, a little bit of a teaser? Maybe about that moment when Tom decided to leave the shack."

"Sure. Yeah, he leaves the shack because he has grown to hate the confinement of it. That little spat he had with Zelda sparked it, but you'll have to read the next chapters to see what happens."

Ziva skimmed back on the last chapter. To what she understood, Tom left because he had to fix some things and that because he was scared that Zelda may lose her life because of him. There had no indicators of Charlie Johnston's theory. Zelda and Tom didn't fight either; the latter had that nightmare, and that was what pushed him to leave.

"Okay," the interviewer said, her smile suddenly of uncertainty and distrust at the writer in front of her. "Any further words, Charlie?"

"Oh, I just want to thank my publisher, Lyndi Crawshaw, for helping me with everything. This is my first break at writing, and knowing that so many people are attracted to my story is the best feeling in the world."

"Thanks for coming here today."

"My pleasure," the man posed that smug smile.

When Lyndi's name registered in her head, Ziva grew heated. She gave Tim's novel to Charlie Johnston. She stole her and Tim's story for a guy who swallowed fame wholly without bothering to see who he stepped on for it.

Ziva picked up her cell phone from the nightstand, and she dialed a number. "Hi. Abby?. . . No—Yes. Everything's alright. . . I called to ask you for a favor. I need an address. . . Yeah. Charlie Johnston. . . I just need to settle something with him."

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	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's Note:**__** Special thanks to CSI-GSR-BILLY-LOVER, PlushItBunny, Abberz the Awesome, and nicolasdes for their reviews! I'll try to send you guys the reply for your comments next week! ^_^ **_

_**WARNING:**__** This chapter touches the topic of domestic abuse, so if you want to skip it, that's okay. I'll post the next chapter by tomorrow, instead. :)**_

_**DISCLAIMER: Anything publicly recognizable is not mine.**_

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**Chapter Ten**

The sound of terrified sobs, along with a desperate pleading, alerted Ziva of the commotion happening inside the apartment as she walked up the stairs. As she drew closer, she heard shouted litany of hurtful speeches coming forth from the man she identified as Charlie Johnston. She checked the number nailed on the door and compared it with the address Abby gave to her in her memory. Apartment 3 of 1436 Blackwell.

It was the correct one.

"You want to say that again? Huh? Or do you want to lie again?"

"No! No! I didn't tell him anything, Charlie. Please!"

"You—"

A slap. A frail body crashed against a furniture. Ziva's anger towards Johnston intensified as she construed what was happening. She kicked the door open, and then stepped inside the dimly lit room.

She spotted Lyndi on the floor, patches of bruises and scratches all over her face, her arms, and her neck. She held a surprised expression on her face. Her reddened eyes gave away the fact that she had been crying for a while. In front of her stood the same person Ziva saw on the TV show. He was unscathed, save for the black eye he had. He regarded the unwelcome visitor with irritation.

However, it did not faze her.

"Who are you?" Johnston walked towards Ziva, incensed. He lifted up his hand in an attempt to grab her by her shirt's collar. "And who gave you the right to—"

Before he could touch her, Ziva hit him on the nose with the base of her palm. Johnston fell backwards, staggering until he was off his feet. He quickly got back up, nonetheless. He touched his bleeding nose momentarily, assessing the damage done, before he attacked again with his tightly-balled fist. Ziva grabbed his wrist, twisted it, and then pushed him hard against the cemented wall.

"No! Charlie!" Lyndi cried.

"Let go of me!" Johnston struggled to free himself from her grasp. "I can have you arrested for trespassing and assault!"

"And I can put you to jail for battery, attempting to assault a federal officer, and stealing," Ziva said.

"I didn't touch you, and I didn't steal anything," Johnston spat through gritted teeth.

"Does the name Thom E. Gemcity strike a chord in your brain?" Ziva asked, narrowing her eyes.

"I should have known. He sent you." Johnston scoffed. "I told him already. No one would believe him anymore," he said spitefully. "The novel is published under _my _name. I made that known to him when he confronted me last week." He tightened his jaws more as he remembered the incident. Too much emotion consumed him that he failed to notice that Ziva's grasp loosened upon hearing that Tim had seen him not too long ago. "That fool," he continued. "He thought that hitting me would make any difference." He turned his head a bit to face her. "And what you do will not matter, either. The book is mine."

"Lyndi," Ziva swiveled to the woman. "What do you think? Is the book his?"

Lyndi swallowed. Her legs quivered as she attempted to stand up. She eyed Johnston warily as if she was trying to measure what the man could do to her if she gave the wrong answer. Then, she gazed at Ziva pleadingly. "I. . ." she began but failed to finish her words.

Johnston snickered. "That scum wouldn't tell you anything," he muttered.

Mixed fear and hurt shadowed Lyndi's eyes, and Ziva understood. She twisted Johnston's arm more, causing him to yelp in pain. Lyndi gasped. Ziva toned down her grip.

"Agent David, I—I think we should go," Lyndi said. "It's just not worth it."

Ziva looked at her for a while before she let go. Johnston faced her immediately, but something in him stopped him from trying to get even again. Ziva smirked when she saw the discolored skin around his eye. She followed Lyndi, but she stopped when she got to the door. "I probably should let you know," she said. "I will make sure that Tim will get his book back and by the end of all this, you will have nothing." With that, she left.

Lyndi was standing outside under the cool September night when she came out. The woman was staring at the ground beneath her feet, although her thoughts, Ziva knew, were focused on something different. The displeasure she reserved for her were temporarily squelched. "Do you have a ride home?" she asked, causing the publisher to jump in surprise.

Lyndi weakly smiled. "No," she responded, "but I can take the bus. My apartment is not that far away from here."

Ziva smiled, calling to mind the publisher's address Abby also gave her. "I do not think forty-nine miles is that close, either," she said. Lyndi creased her eyebrows. "Come on. I will explain on the way to your home."

The invitation was hesitantly accepted. Ziva could feel the awkwardness Lyndi had on getting inside the vehicle. It wasn't until they turned on the highway that she spoke. "Is it safe to assume that you know where I live?" she asked, her voice near to a mere whisper.

Ziva did not respond.

Lyndi nodded. "You know where Charlie lives and where I live," she continued. "I'm guessing that it's because of the book."

Silence.

"You've read it?"

Ziva glanced at her.

"I thought you would have by now," Lyndi smiled. "Tim told me the book was for y—. . . a special someone. Did you know that?"

"Why did you think I came this far for you and Johnston?" Ziva asked, fired up by the remembrance of the dedication. In her periphery she saw her guest frozen, terrified by the spark of anger she sensed. Ziva eased. She sighed. "I apologize."

"No. No. You shouldn't," Lyndi started to cry silently. "I know. I have let Tim down again. If I can just turn back time, I wouldn't have given in to Charlie. I was so stupid to get so carried away! I should've known."

"You should've known what?"

"I should've known that he would take the book," Lyndi sniffled. "Charlie was a new writer when we took him in," she recounted. "His stories weren't really that good, but before we could kick him out he asked me for another chance. He asked me for help. He was a charming young man, and I felt bad for him, so I let him stay. I talked to Tim about mentoring Charlie. Nice guy that he is, he agreed. Under Tim's and my supervision, we taught him. Charlie and I got close, and it didn't take long after until we started dating. Tim warned me, saying that there's something that doesn't feel right with that man. I didn't listen." She paused briefly, wiping the tears off her eyes with the back of her hand as guilt flooded inside her. "The same time Charlie and I were dating, Tim worked on his new novel. He didn't mention anything to anyone about it except me. A few months, just after he gave me the manuscript for editing, Charlie began asking if Tim had any new books coming up. I didn't answer at first. That's when he—" she stopped, afraid to continue on.

Ziva knew. "It's okay," she reassured her.

Lyndi took in a breath of air before doing what she was encouraged to do. "That's when he started hurting me. It was just grabbing my arms really tight at the beginning, but then he got angrier and angrier until it came to the point that he started hitting me. He kept telling me it was my fault that he hurts me. He said he loves me, and that it wouldn't have come to this if I just do what he said. Tim started suspecting that something horrible was happening, but I wouldn't tell him even if he kept asking me.

"After two more months, Charlie said that he thought our relationship wasn't working out, and he didn't love me anymore. He said he doesn't deserve a person like me. I got scared. I loved him so much even if he. . .even if he was doing those things to me. I begged him to stay, but he wouldn't. I resorted to the last option I had to keep him—surrender Tim's story. When I did, Charlie was so pleased with me. He said he'd give me another chance. He read the story, he loved it, and he told me to publish it under his name. . .and I did," Lyndi wept, the despair in her sobs resonating against the walls of the car. Ziva's ire turned into pity as compassion came to her. "I am so sorry, Agent David, but I did," Lyndi continued. "I was such an idiot! I'm so. . .I'm so. . ."

"You did not know what to do," Ziva consoled her.

Lyndi shook her head. "But I still have to make things right," she said. "That's what I came there for—at Charlie's apartment? I wanted to call it off with him and to tell him that I'm giving back _Strike the Walls _to Tim." She started to chuckle, which garnered a frown from Ziva. "By Charlie's black eye, I could tell that Tim had already talked to him about it. Well, that and the fact that he was blaming me on the fight he had with him." Lyndi sighed. "Although, I wish Tim would have told me about it when he met with me at that café two weeks ago."

"You saw him? Was he hurt?" Ziva worriedly asked.

"No," Lyndi answered. "He was fine. Never mentioned anything, like I said. He only told me that he was worried about me. He knew. He talked me into my decision tonight. I was scared, but he said that he would make sure that Charlie would not hurt me anymore. More than a week ago, Tim introduced me to a specialist on abusive relationships."

"How did it go?"

Lyndi shrugged. "Good, I guess," she replied. "It was awkward, but Tim was always there to help me through it. That's why I feel so guilty. I still love Charlie, though I shouldn't anymore. But on top of it all, I feel so embarrassed to Tim." She chuckled. "He's like my little brother, you know? He does his best to protect me from harm despite the fact that I was the one who sold his story to his mentee."

Ziva smiled. A warm feeling covered her heart as she thought of Tim's kindness to Lyndi. Thinking about his departure, she supposed that Lyndi was the tenth reason. He wanted to make sure she was faring fine and was safe from any harm.

At the same time, she hoped he one day he'd take their story back from Johnston.

Their story. That sounded funny. She was assuming again that it was for her when it may be for his wife. Tom and Zelda were Tim and his wife. Not Tim and her.

Slowing down to the parking lot of Lyndi's apartment, a tint of despair grew in her. She wanted to ask Lyndi if she had anyway of contacting him, but her uncertainty made her doubt if she wanted to see him any longer.

"He likes you, you know that?"

The question pierced through her thoughts. Turning to the source of the question, she found her guest out of the car, a knowing smile on her face as she looked at her through the open window. "I'm sorry?" she said.

"Tim. He likes you," Lyndi continued. "He talks about you a lot." She chuckled. "He's like a little boy in love."

Ziva smiled.

"Look. I trust that both of you would make your story a happily ever after. I don't know what the deal is with Tim's logic of staying away from you until all of his problems are over, but—"

"He told you?"

Lyndi nodded. "But then again, maybe he has a good explanation for doing so. He's dealing with a lot of stuff, and I don't think he wants you to get caught in the middle. He just cares for you."

"Thank you," Ziva replied, a seed of hope planted in her soul, "Lyndi."

"I should be the one to thank you," Lyndi said, stepping away. "Oh. Agent David?"

"Yes?"

"His favorite café at Downtown DC? Maybe you'll find him there," Lyndi said.

Ziva nodded again.

Lyndi smiled at her before withdrawing to her apartment. She hoped that she would find Tim soon. She thought they shouldn't be apart any longer.

Ziva, while she drove away, thought otherwise. She wanted to see Tim so bad but somehow, that determination waned down into a mere dream, into a wishful fancy.

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	11. Chapter 11

_**DISCLAIMER: Anything anyone recognizes are not mine. :)**_

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**Chapter Eleven**

The bright glow of the Sunday sun outlined the edges of the buildings surrounding the café Ziva stayed at. Clouds above had a busy pace, but their flow was nothing but smooth. The people below, she thought, reflected the movement. She smiled as she compared the scenery to notes on a piano piece. The light above began the song, while the events unraveling in the streets brought the masterwork forward.

At the far end of the street, she saw a man garbed in a crisp suit running to beat the 'Don't Walk' sign at the opposite sidewalk. She found it amusing to watch certain individuals and constructing their story, so that was what she did while she sipped her coffee. She decided that the man was businessman late for a meeting. Based on the way he kept checking on his shirt's cuffs, he valued appearance greatly. Ziva grinned. He was tardy because he took long in choosing what he was going to wear.

The chimes on the door leading into the café rung when a couple came out. The man was as tall as Tim while the woman was almost the same height as her. Her appearance reminded her of someone she had seen before, but after a while of guessing she gave up. Instead, she made up their tale. They briefly stopped near her to check on the food they bought. The man laughed when his companion said something.

The woman looked up. Her eyes glimmered when she smiled at him. "You think your boss would like this?" she asked.

"I think so," he said. "He should. It's his favorite."

"Are you sure it's okay for me to visit your office?"

Visit his office. Ziva recalled who the woman reminded her of. She visited Tim at NCIS once, which slightly gave away her ulterior motive of seeing him. Tim loved her well, too, she knew, and that made her death harder for him to swallow.

_Amanda's death was not your fault. You know that, yes? _she asked him that evening when they were alone in the bullpen, a day after the case with Kai was closed. She could commit to memory the distraught expression on his face.

_I know._

_Then why are you sad?_

A pained smile dimmed his face. _She's the second girl I liked to die in my arms. _

_I am sorry to hear that. _She was not able to bear his downheartedness, so she stood up and drew closer to him. _Tim._

_How many more, Ziva?,_ he asked.

_I do not know._

_I wish I do. It's not really a good feeling when I think that another woman I'll like will get hurt because of me._

She smiled then. She tapped him lightly on the cheek. _I do not think it will happen anymore. I will make sure she will be safe, trust me._

The peculiar smirk that emerged next on Tim's face should have given her a hint on his leaving. _Even if I'm far away from you?_

_Yes._

_If you only knew, Ziva, _he shook his head.

Coming out of the recesses of her mind, she noticed that the couple was gone. Looking around, she found herself lost in the rhythm that she laid upon the passers-by not long ago. The run of her different tales was also disrupted.

If she could recall it right, the café she stayed at was one of Tim's favorite places in the city. Maybe it was because there, he could compose great narratives by just observing people. However, she wondered how it had changed after Amanda's murder. It was unsettling to imagine that after the tragedy, the song that always moved his pen to bring to life a new story crumbled down to silence.

Ziva wondered why Tim came back there, what with that spot holding so much burden for his heart to carry. She marveled at the idea that it was because he was waiting for her there, that it was where he meant for them to meet.

Suddenly, the picture that she recovered from Margaret's album floated to remembrance.

Or, maybe, he came there because it was where his dream of finding someone who would stay with him forever began.

Concluding that, Ziva stood up, feeling that she had intruded a world that was not hers by coming to the place at all. What was she thinking? She was only shaming herself by even attempting to see him again. It was over. She should stop. Tim loved someone else.

"Is it alright if I take this, Miss, or should I get you some more coffee?"

Ziva shook her head. "That is all," she took out her wallet, and then turned around. She looked up. "Thank—" She froze. The young woman that pleasantly smiled at her, holding her coffee cup, was someone she had seen before. The unmistakable blue eyes like Joshua's and the blonde hair caused defeat to flare inside her.

"Miss?" the woman asked. "Are you alright?"

"I know who you are," Ziva hesitated to say. "You're—You're Tim's wife, am I right?"

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	12. Chapter 12

**_Author's Notes: First of all, I really want to apologize for posting these chapters (I'm also posting the thirteenth one next to this) so late. I've been working on some other things since school started back again (and also another fic for a challenge in NFA), and I slacked off in posting. :P My apologies. _**

**_One day, I'd send a PM to these wonderful people, but for now I do hope that they'd take my overjoyed "thank you!" for leaving lovely reviews!_**

**_Abbers the Awesome :: Meilea2010 :: Tracey Clayborne :: shadowkitten701_**

**_DISCLAIMER: Anything, anyone publicly recognizable is not mine. :)_**

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**Chapter Twelve**

The woman lightly frowned, smiling nonetheless. "I'm sorry?" she said.

Ziva looked at her, a mixture of hurt and jealousy possessing her heart. The woman had shorter hair than in the photograph, but she knew well that it was her. Her blue eyes that reminded Ziva strongly of Joshua effaced any other doubts that dared to exist. "Tim's wife," she repeated, the words rolling out like poison on her tongue.

"Tim?" the woman echoed the name. Her eyebrows furrowed more. "I'm sorry, Miss, but I'm. . ." she shook her head, and then a friendly chuckle bubbled from her. "I can't. . ."

The woman's metallic name tag glared at Ziva. Ashley—that was her name. "Timothy McGee," Ziva said to make it clearer.

The clouds of inquisition crowding Ashley's face vanished when the name registered to her. "Oh! Tim!" she laughed. She playfully tapped her right temple while rolling her eyes. "Man," she grinned. "I think I'm starting to have those senior moments. I apologize." She paused, regarding her customer pensively momentarily. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I recognize the accent. Tim has told me about it. You. You must be Ziva."

Discomfort clogged Ziva's ribcage. "I am," she answered.

"Well, we have lots to talk about—starting with Joshua. Tim has told me you've visited him, and from what I heard he is quite fond of you," Ashley giggled. Then, she looked up and down the streets. "Would you like to come inside? My boss is a little fickle about me leaving the counter to talk to customers. She said if I really needed to chat, I should do it inside the café." She led the way, still carefully holding close the cup Ziva used. As she set foot inside the building, she glanced back at her guest, making sure she was coming.

In all honesty, Ziva protested much into following Ashley. She knew she would only be pained by the young lovers' tales sure to ensue, and at the end of the day she would end up more distraught. However, before she could politely dismiss the invitation, she realized that he feet had already brought her at the counter, her body hesitantly mounting up on one of the stools.

Ashley began pouring coffee into the cup but halted when a thought struck her. "I do hope I'm not imposing on you," she turned around, an apologetic smile on her lips. "Um, you're not on a rush to get somewhere, are you? Like, maybe, work?"

Ziva shook her head slowly. "I have nowhere to go," she responded.

"Oh. Okay," she grinned, and then resumed what she was formerly doing. "I just did not want to be rude by taking your time. I have a tendency to talk people to death. So, you've been warned. I'm Ashley, by the way." She placed Ziva's cup in front of her, filled with coffee once more. Ziva opened her mouth to reject the offer, but Ashley cut her short. "On the house," she said, a hand on her hips, "and I don't take no for an answer."

Ziva cast her eyes down to the dark beverage. Ashley, she reluctantly admitted, was a charming woman. She was thoughtful, and her presence—her mere act of smiling—brightened up the room she was in. The act of kindness Ashley extended to her made her feel embarrassed, especially when called to mind the yearning she felt for the young woman's husband. Pondering about how she wanted to see him and to feel him before made her repulsed by herself.

Ashley, unable to recognize the inward shame her guest felt, smiled. "Tim has mentioned that you've come to see Joshua," she begun, amused by the information. "How was it? How was he? I hoped he was a good boy."

Ziva sipped some of her drink to ease the lump growing in her throat. "He was," she answered. She wanted to stop at that, but Ashley leaning forward at the counter, eager to hear her accounts, forced her to speak more. "I thought he was, ah, a cute little boy."

"He is, isn't he?" Ashley's eyes sparkled.

Ziva nodded. "He was biting his fingers all of the time—"

"I told him to stop doing that!" Ashley exclaimed, a bit upset.

"He keeps saying dada," Ziva continued, lightened up by the woman's reaction. "He said ba-bye as well."

Ashley grinned weakly, enamored by the child's actions. "He's a really smart kid. I'm so proud of him."

Ziva chuckled when she remembered something else. "There was this one time also when he bit Tony's fingers—"

Ashley gasped.

"—because he was messing with him."

Ashley clucked her tongue. "I need to talk to that Joshua," she said, disappointed. "Did you know that he bites other kids, too?" Ziva laughed. "I don't know what the deal is with him! It's not like they starve him!"

"He is just being a child," Ziva justified. Ashley shook her head, unimpressed by the boy. Ziva continued. "When I came back one time, he called me mam—" She stopped, feeling that she was crossing a boundary, both of hers and of Ashley's.

Ashley became downhearted, and it caused the smile on her face to wane down into an uncertain curl of the lips. She knew. "He called you mama, didn't he?" she asked almost silently.

Ziva avoided her eyes. "I am sorry, Ashley," she began to push out of her seat. "I should not have said—"

"No! That's. . . that's perfectly fine," Ashley forced a smile back on her lips. "It's, you know. . .something that I," she sat down on a chair opposite Ziva, "expected. And you shouldn't feel bad about it! No. You really shouldn't."

"Ashley. . ."

"I gave him up when he was five months old. Did Tim tell you that?" she asked. "I felt bad that day, watching him cry like that. He didn't want to let go of me, but he soon had to. Our life's a sad tale, really," she chuckled.

"What happened?" Ziva could not help but ask.

Ashley shrugged. "You know. The usual. His father and I fell in love, we got married—even if Dad didn't want me to—, something bad happened, everything got destroyed, had Joshua. Though, sometimes, I ask myself the same question. The only quirk we had way before was that Dad didn't like Fred. You know. My ex-husband. He kept telling me that he knows Fred doesn't love me, but I didn't listen. I thought he did. So, instead of forcing us apart, Dad made sure that we would be together. When I asked him why, he just said that he knew I was happy, so who was he to do anything that would hurt me?" She smiled at Ziva. "He was a very good Dad, you know," she said. "But then, after a few years, he was killed. Fred and I were good at first, but after years our marriage became shaky. I figured that maybe it would help if we had a kid. We had Joshua, but that wasn't enough for him. I just came to the conclusion that Dad was right—that jerk never loved me. He just. . . I don't know. I didn't even wanted to ask."

She sighed. "Anyways, he began cheating after I told him I was pregnant. He didn't even support me with anything. So, in my seventh month, when it became too much, I asked him for divorce, and. . .he told me he was happy that I finally 'gained a brain.'" She rolled her eyes. "That fool," she muttered. "The bottom line is that I couldn't do without any help, and I thought that Joshua would be better off with a family that can raise him right. Keep his stomach full, you know?"

Ziva felt the weight of Ashley's problems anchoring down on her conscience. The young woman desired a different life, and there she was taking it away from her by trying her chance with Tim. The more she thought about Ashley's story, the more compassionate she became. She also decided that any feelings she had for her friend should be forgotten. "Your father," she said, averting any more guilt within her. "You said he was killed. Did they find who killed him?"

Ashley looked at her, suddenly puzzled. Then, she began chuckling. "Yes," she responded. "You guys did."

Ziva frowned. "Your father's death was one of our cases?" she asked. "He was in the navy?"

"He was a metro cop," Ashley replied. "He died a few years back. Tim kept apologizing to me about his death, but I knew it wasn't him. The kill shot didn't come from him."

Memory dawned upon Ziva. "Wait. You are Detective John Benedict's daughter?" she inquired.

Ashley nodded. "Tim and I met at his funeral. That guy," she shook her head. "He was really sorry about what happened, but I told him that he should not be. I was told that Dad's partner had something to do with him being at that alley, so if I'm blaming anyone it's him."

"You and Tim have known each other for a while now," Ziva said, increasingly discouraged by the fact.

Ashley nodded again. "I wish we could have met in a much different circumstance, but I guess that's the only way," she said. "Still, I'm glad that when things were falling apart, he showed up. A real blessing, I tell you. He helped me start over by getting me a decent job," she glanced around the café, "and by promising that he would be a good Dad to Joshua." She smiled. "I trust that he will. I could see it when he's with Joshua, especially when he brings him to the playground that, he said, he used to go to when he was little. Tim's a very special guy, and I know my son will love him."

Ziva stood up from her seat, mustering all her might to pose a smile despite the ache in her chest. "Thank you for your hospitality, Ashley," she said. "I appreciated it."

"Oh, no," Ashley bit her lip. "I bored you with my coffee house drama, didn't I?"

"No," Ziva answered. "I just think that I should leave. I am rather. . .exhausted."

"Okay."

"I wish the best for you, Joshua, and your husband," she gave her a curt nod before turning.

Ashley's eyebrows creased. "My husband?" she repeated. "You meant Fred?"

Ziva swiveled to face her. "No. Tim," she responded politely, pushing the words out of her mouth.

Ashley was taken aback. "Tim?" she echoed. Then, she grinned, blushing slightly. "Tim's not my husband."

It was Ziva's turn to frown. "But. . .you said that he will be a good father to your son," she said. "And the letter. . ."

"I don't know about any letter, but," Ashley drew closer to her, "the closest relationship I have with Tim is that of a friend. He's going to be Joshua's new Dad because of the adoption. That's all."

The embarrassment Ziva felt, as well as the peculiar relief she felt, cemented her on her spot.

Ashley smiled. "Tim loves someone else," she said, gladdened by her conclusion. She looked at Ziva in the eyes. "He loves you, I know. More than anything in the world." Then, she crossed her arms, smirking. "Although, I hope you're willing to share that love with my Joshua. I will be upset if you take up all of Tim's attention."

Ziva chuckled. The doubt and the guilt that were locked inside her were finally freed as Ashley's words sunk into her. "Thank you, Ashley," she said gratefully.

Ashley grinned. "No need."

Ziva turned around then left. The rays of the bright light above, she thought, bathed the streets in such splendor it had not bestowed before. All was well, and the rhythm she had composed earlier was back to its pace. Tim was not married and—she hoped it was not false—he liked her. Scenarios of how she was going to find him, including the refreshed hope of seeing him, burned inside her mind.

However, Ashley's muffled yell as she drove away lightly disrupted her thought.

". . .to dress him up well! If not, he might get sick in England!"

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**_Reviews are always loved!_**


	13. Chapter 13

**_Author's Note: *gets teary-eyed* Sheesh. We're down to two more chapters after this, and we're done! I'll save the thank you speech later on. I do hope that everyone will enjoy! ^_^_**

**_DISCLAIMER: Anything, anyone publicly recognizable is not mine. :)_**

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**Chapter Thirteen**

Ziva allowed herself to be rocked gently by the swing she sat in while she watched the empty playground around her. The orange glow of the setting Saturday sun skipped about on the slides, the seesaws, and the numerous teeter-totters shaped like different animals. The cold wind of young October blew gently past her, causing a chill to run down her neck and her hands to feel drier and emptier. The brown and dark amber-colored leaves beneath her feet rustled as they sauntered a little forward.

It had been ten months since she last saw Tim, more or less. On those, she had spent a great deal of time thinking about him and wondering if she would ever see him again. She had come to know him more by encountering the tragedies and the joys that motivated him to leave.

Like that playground, for example.

She remembered Ashley mentioning it when she spoke to her two weeks ago. It was the sole hint that she had left after searching other places that might bring her closer to Tim. After asking the young woman the location, she found herself there that afternoon, alone and with a diminishing hope. Nonetheless, she remained, meanwhile trying to understand why she did. She supposed it was because that playground carried a memory from Tim's past.

She could imagine him frolicking around, running freely with not so much care about the world. A sad smile emerged on Ziva's lips. If he only knew how things would be different years after. The innocence he had would be broken by the reality of the world around him. Time's continuous flow would change him, too.

One day, that same October day, he would find himself away from the people he loved.

Then again, maybe not entirely. When she came to the orphanage to visit Joshua three days ago, Jenny told her that his dad came the day before and, since he was given the young boy's custody, took him home. She inquired if he mentioned anything, but she said he didn't.

"Mr. McGee thanked us for everything. He said he would see us again someday, and then he told Joshua to tell us goodbye, then they left," Jenny said apologetically. "I am sorry, Miss David."

She had been rendered sleepless by thinking where they might be. Gibbs and Tony remarked that she was terribly losing her focus at her work, but it seemed to her that every moment wasted of not going over the things she knew were chances lost of seeing Tim again.

She hated to admit that, at times, she concluded that maybe he didn't want to see her—that was why she couldn't find him. Lyndi, and even he himself, said that he didn't want her to get caught in the problems he was facing and differences he was making.

As evident from his departure from the playground to begin anew somewhere else; from his care of Ashley to amend a wrong he might have not even committed; from the memories lingering around the café where he watched his beloved pass away; from his efforts to keep Lyndi safe; from the subtle revelation in his book of how he thought of her; from the love and care he had for his family, as well as for the team; from his appreciation of possibilities exemplified by the endless sea; from the happiness and willingness he had in accepting Joshua in his life; from his grievous loss of Margaret, a woman he looked up to as his second mother; his despair of Kate's sudden death that he took responsibility of; and the suffocating silence that defined his life.

Ziva stood up from the swing then began to walk back to her car. Until that day, she did not really know why she was a reason that he left. She convinced herself that it was because Tim did not want her to be hurt, but it didn't seem right. _It's because I didn't want to drag all of you down with me. _The concern existed for the others, not just her.

Wearily, she entirely dismissed the idea rising in her mind. Perhaps she was thinking too much of it when it may not have much meaning at all. Mild anger briefly flared up in her when she thought that Tim told her that she was one because he wanted her to follow him. However, she knew that it was not in his character to do that. He was—

A squeak pierced through her thoughts. She looked down on her left foot and saw that she stepped on a toy. It was a small, soft foam airplane lying sideways on the ground. Picking it up, she examined it.

The toy was an exaggerated version of the model it took after—big, plump body with a fairly shorter wings. Smaller jet engines were attached beneath those, and printed near the rudder, under it, was E-1026.

_Although, _she remembered Tim's father say, _his favorite has to be London. He said he didn't know why, but he have always wanted to go there. He said the night lights are beautiful and that there's just something about that city that he wanted to see. He never had the chance to go there, though._

_. . .to dress him up well! If not, he might get sick in England! _Ashley's yell resonated through her thoughts.

Hurriedly, she took out her phone from her pocket and then dialed Abby's number. She clutched the toy in her hand as she waited.

"Hello?" Abby answered.

"Abby? This is Ziva. Are you still at NCIS?"

Abby sighed. "Yeah," she responded listlessly. "Agent Calloway asked me to pull an all-nighter. He said he really needed me in their case."

"Will you do me a favor?" Ziva asked, getting inside her car.

"Of course, Ziva!"

"Can you look at flight records to London, England and see whether Tim is in any of them?"

"Tim's leaving for London?" Abby asked, dismayed by the request.

"Abby, please. We may not have much time," Ziva said, her heart racing faster at the probability of seeing Tim.

Collision of fingers and keys spoke in reply to her. Then, she heard a beep. "9 PM at California tonight," Abby answered.

Ziva glanced at her watch. 5:16 PM. She didn't have any time to catch a plane to head there. "Oh," was the only thing she managed to say. "Thank you anyways for—"

"Wait," Abby cut her short. "He has a connecting flight to California from Washington National Airport at 5:35 PM this afternoon, gate B-23. He checked in his luggage half an hour ago."

"I can make it," Ziva muttered to herself. She started her vehicle with much anticipation. She was less than twenty minutes away from her destination.

"I'll call Gibbs and Tony, and we'll meet you there," Abby said, and then she hung up.

As the engine whirred, eagerness filled Ziva. Tim was at the airport at that moment; she had a chance to see him again.

She stepped on the gas, veering carefully the steering wheel, while the radio automatically turned on.

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	14. Chapter 14

**_Author's Note: Thank you to all of those who set this story as a favorite and putting an alert for it! ^_^ Especial thanks for those who elft reviews!_**

**_Mandy I Am :: Abberz the Awesome :: PlushItBunny :: ThePenIsMighty :: Gunner'sDream_**

**_DISCLAIMER: Anything recognizable is not mine. :)_**

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**Chapter Fourteen**

"Good evening to all the listeners! This is DJ Dee-Jai coming to you from the beautiful Maryland," boomed a familiar voice from the radio. Ziva's focus, however, was mostly on the street and how she could get to her destination quicker. "I hope that your weekend is going along just fine. Mine's been pret-ty well! The switch from nighttime broadcasting to afternoon had been lots of fun, I tell you."

Ziva glanced at time on her watch. 5:29 PM. She was just five minutes away from the airport. Tersely turning the steering wheel, she snaked through several cars that were beginning to clot. It was not unusual for that road to be busy on certain weekend days, but why did it have to be that that Saturday?

". . .song that just finished playing was requested by Henry T. He said it's dedicated to his sweetheart, Jess, for their third year anniversary! Can we get an 'aww' for that?" the DJ chuckled.

From the distance proudly stood the control tower, a minute, red light blinking above it almost as a beacon. The sound of large engines dominating the skies struck through her ear, causing her heart to pound faster. She saw a plane move aloft. A chill suddenly trickled down her spine.

She stepped on the gas. 5:32 PM. If she could find the gate immediately, perhaps he would be there.

"You know, speaking of request, I just remembered this one that I had a couple of months back," Dee related. "Maybe none of you can remember it, maybe some of you can. Me? I was kind of surprised that I did. Anyways, the caller named himself as Probie One, and the song he asked for was for Probie Two. It was clearly a geek love, I thought. But then, I met Probie Two and let me tell you: she's far from being your average nerd. Very beautiful woman. She had that certain. . . je ne sais quoi in her. I don't know if she can hear me right now. If she could, she'll probably kill me for saying telling this story—and she looked like she can: she came one day to me, and telling me that the guy that requested 'The Reason' by Hoobastank had actually been missing. She looked really worried, and she asked me for help. She wanted to see him bad. . ."

Ziva eased down on her speed as she approached the lane leading to the 'Domestic Flights' entrance. She impatiently looked at her watch when a van halted in front of her, a few meters from the sliding doors, before a family came out to unload their baggage. It was 5:33 PM.

"She said she was a friend, but I can tell he was more than that to her," Dee continued. "And when he called, I could also tell from his tone that she was more than a friend to him, too. With that being said, I heard this song one day, and I thought it would fit them well. By now, I hope they've found each other. I hope they're listening, too."

Ziva grew impatient with waiting and decided to abandon her car. She would have to answer to the questions sure to ensue from the employees later.

"So here's Lifehouse's 'You and Me' for Probie One and Probie Two. You're—"

Ziva ran inside. She pleadingly sought for any indications of the gate Tim was in from the signs above, but there was none in them.

"Miss? Are you looking for something?" a security guard came up to her.

"Yes," Ziva answered, growing the more apprehensive at every second that passed. "I'm looking for a flight in California, gate B-23."

"Okay. Have you checked in your luggage?" he asked.

"I. . ." Ziva searched the faces of the people passing by her, wishing that one of them would be Tim, but she was met with disappointment. She caught sight of an electronic clock on the wall. 5:37 PM. "I need to be there before the flight leaves," she petitioned him. "Please. I do not have enough time."

The security guard regarded her pensively, discerning her intention of rushing inside the place with nothing but a desire to get to a certain flight. Nonetheless, the sincerity of her desperation convinced him that he had to point her to the gate. "Go straight down, and then make a left when you see the bookstore," he said. "It would be the second gate on the right."

Ziva nodded, a bit relieved. "Thank you," she said before she began moving again.

The cacophonous melody of attendants' voices announcing a flight's boarding lingered in her ears. Silhouettes of planes heading to the horizon blinded her periphery.

She could not lose Tim now. She had to see him.

When she turned left, she immediately saw the sign at the right—B-23. Various, but not many, passengers occupied the seat near the counter. Kids were running around, but Joshua was not one of them. A man stood on the corner talking on the phone, but he was not Tim. Drawing towards the attendant, she noticed that the door beside her was closed. No plane waited outside. "Excuse me," she asked the lady standing at the counter shakily. "The flight to California?"

"Oh. Are you a passenger?" the attendant asked apologetically. "I'm sorry, but the flight left just a few minutes ago."

"But. . . Why didn't. . ." Ziva was unable to finish.

"It came earlier than usual. We thought that everyone had boarded," the attendant said, checking the records in her computer for fear that she would be held responsible. "I'm really sorry."

Ziva nodded. She peered outside the window in a futile hope to see the plane come back. Of course, it would not anymore. She was too late. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she swiftly wiped them off with the back of her hand. She should not cry. He would be back, she told herself. He would be back one day.

But, she feared, she did not know when. She did not know if she ever would.

"Ziva?"

Thinking it was someone from the team, she turned around, attempting to hold down the grieve possessing her heart. "He's—" She stopped. She creased her eyebrows when she saw the person that called her name.

Tim smiled when he saw the surprised look on Ziva's face. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he said.

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**_One more left! Please leave a review! :D_**


	15. Chapter 15

**_Author's Note: Sorry it took me long! Things had not been so nice to me, so. . . :P This is the final chapter, you guys! I really do hope you'd like it! :D_**

**_Oh, and thanks to the following people for leaving meaningful comments last chapter! _**

**_shadowkitten701 :: musicjumper28 :: Gunner'sDream :: AbberztheAwesome :: scarlettarchangel15 :: crocadile 1986 :: ThePenIsMighty_**

**_And hello to those who put alert on this! ^_^_**

**_Disclaimer:_****_ Anything, anyone recognizable isn't mine._**

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**Chapter Fifteen**

Her heart stopped beating. All sensations ceased to exist, save for the intense want to know if her eyes were fooling her. She opened her lips to speak, but it wasn't enough to release the words that brimmed inside her.

_What day is it?_

_And it what month? _

_This clock never seemed so alive_

Tim walked around Joshua's stroller after locking the wheels down. His grin waned into a smile as he drew closer to Ziva. "How did you find me?" he asked.

"The toy airplane that you left at the park," Ziva answered, slightly feeling hurt. "Ashley mentioned something about where you might be heading. I asked Abby to look for you."

Tim frowned because of a detail he thought peculiar. "Toy airplane?" he repeated, puzzled. "I didn't leave any toy plane."

_I can't keep up_

_And I can't back down_

_I've been losing so much time_

Ziva, however, did not respond. Much of her thoughts consumed her, particularly the one that made her doubt her contentedness on seeing Tim. It had been too long. She kept too many unanswered questions. Both clashed upon his presence, causing a hint of resentment to bud in her.

Tim observed her stillness and knew. "Ziva."

'_Cause it's you and me_

_And all of the people_

_With nothing to do_

_Nothing to lose_

Ziva swallowed some air to ease her madly beating heart. "It had been months," she said.

"I know."

Ziva mustered every drop of courage to look into his eyes. "I thought you were gone—_completely _gone at one point, even," she said quietly.

"I know," Tim said, growing remorseful for what he had because of the weariness carved into her features.

_And it's you and me_

_And all of the people _

_And I don't know why_

_I can't keep my eyes off of you_

Ziva was rendered speechless once more. She did not know what else to say. The excitement she had before, equipped with what she concluded were the right words, vanished. Instead, the pair of emerald irises gazing at her reminded her of the people she met, the places she had been, and the truth that those uncovered about the person in front of her.

_One of the things_

_That I want to say_

_Just aren't coming off right_

"I'm sorry that I put you through all of these, Ziva," Tim said. Ziva averted her eyes, surprised that he was able to discern her thoughts. At the same time, she was afraid that he would discover something more about the want that lingered in her soul for months. "I know you're tired, and I can understand if you're angry at me because of what I did," he continued, the guilt in him intensifying.

_I'm tripping inwards_

_You got my head spinning_

"Before, I keep wishing that I figured out soon enough that you had problems," Ziva said. "I would have gone through them with you. But then again, I was glad that that was not what happened."

"Why?"

_I don't know where to go from here_

"Because now you—" _mean so much more to me,_ she kept it to herself when cowardice struck her. Tim awaited. She continued. "You have learned, I can see, to be a better person."

Tim's lips curled into a disillusioned smile.

'_Cause it's you and me_

_And all of the people_

_With nothing to do_

_Nothing to lose_

"Although there's one thing that I cannot understand," Ziva added, stepping closer to him. "Why was I the first reason why you left?"

_And it's you and me_

_And all of the people _

_And I don't know why_

_I can't keep my eyes off of you_

Tim stared at her, receding to his thoughts. Not long after, he breathed deeply, gathering all his might, and then he answered. "I started to fall in love with you," he said. "Right then I wanted to be someone worthy."

_There's something about you now_

_That I can't quite figure out_

_Everything she does is beautiful_

_Everything she does is right_

Ziva sensed electricity run through her veins.

Tim continued. "At first, I thought it was just admiration," he said. "When we came home from Somalia, I kept thinking of you—how happy I was that you were with us, and how I respected you by being strong. Not long after that, problems began to pile up for me. Still, you were in my mind. I knew that the way I see you was changing because every instant I talk to you, there's always this fuzzy feeling inside me. I get jealous easily, too, especially whenever you were with someone else." He chuckled, his cheeks turning to a light shade of red. "I know it sounds corny and weird, but it is true."

_Cause it's you and me_

_And all of the people_

_With nothing to do_

_Nothing to lose_

"You should have told me how you felt," Ziva said, smiling at him.

"I wanted to," Tim answered, reciprocating the smile, "but things got out of hand. It was wrong for me to leave all of a sudden to deal with those without saying a word, but that was the only way that I could think of. Like I said on the e-mail, I planned not to tell anyone, but then, I could not help myself. I thought you deserved to know. I wanted to become a better person for you." He glanced back at Joshua, bashful like a young boy admitting ardor to his crush.

_And it's you and me _

_And all of the people_

_And I don't know why_

_I can't keep my eyes off of you and me_

_And all of the people with nothing to do_

_Nothing to prove_

"You said you missed me the time you called me at Virginia," Ziva said.

"And I meant every bit of it," Tim said. "Still, it wasn't the time then. You know, even if I encountered some bumps along the way, like that one time when a guy stole my wallet and the people in court gave me a hard time for Joshua's custody, which are not important," he looked at her, aware that he was digressing, "I ignored them. All of those mean nothing compared to the happiness I'd have if you gave me a chance to be with you."

_And it's you and me_

_And all of the people_

_And I don't know why _

_I can't keep my eyes off of you_

Ziva's cheeks colored into rose. She thought she was going to fall over with so much emotion spinning inside her, but she concluded that it was just the fulfillment of her yearning for him to like her as she liked him.

"Although, if it's okay for me to ask," Tim said, "why did you go through all of those for someone like me?"

Ziva answered by slowly drawing closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist, under his jacket, and lying her head on his chest. It did not take long for his arms to enclose her, too. She then heard his heart increase speed when it felt hers not far away from it. She smiled a contented smile.

"Probie!" they heard Tony shout.

Tim turned his head, bearing an expression joy from holding someone he adored, while Ziva remained motionless.

_What day is it?_

_And in what month?_

_This clock never seemed so alive. . . _

Reason. Only reason. He was the only reason why.

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**Thank you all for reading! Please leave a review, and I hope to see you in the next McGiva story I'll write sometime soon: the sequel to "Promise?"! :D**


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